


Captive In Your Arms

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Brutal Murder, Case Fic, Crime Scenes, Curses, Daily Prophet, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hex Bruises, Identity Reveal, Impulsive Harry Potter, Journalism, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Magi-Evidence Inspector Draco Malfoy (basically a magical Crime-Scene Investigator), Major Character Injury, Missions Gone Wrong, Reminiscing, Revenge, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Scars, Sectumsempra Scars, Serial Killer, Some Red Dragon (2002) Influences, Soul Bond, Soul Bond Magic, Soulmates, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Soulmates AU: when your soulmate is injured or hurt, you can feel their pain alongside them.Harry Potter is devastated when his long dormant soul-bond with colleague Draco Malfoy flares into life. He hadn't asked to be anyone's soulmate and he certainly hadn't wanted his whole future to be dictated to him. As a result, Harry's whole life is in disarray at precisely the time he needs to be at the top of his game. A vicious killer is stalking the wizarding world, killing the male heirs of Pure-Blood families.Will Harry and the rest of his team be able to solve these terrible crimes and will Harry and Draco get the happy ending that they both so deserve?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 311
Collections: A Very Drarry Valentine's Day Exchange





	1. Everything He'd Ever Known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randoyoyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randoyoyo/gifts).



> This is for the lovely, wonderful randoyoyo. You are such a blessing to the drarry fandom. 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day to you, darling. Here is the soulmates case-fic that you asked for. This is a story written entirely for you. ❤

Harry eyed his coffee mug with distaste. The liquid contained within bore little relation to a relaxing pick-me-up, with its dull black sheen and stomach-turning scent but Harry found he didn’t much care any more. He scraped around the coffee jar for the final grounds and he added those before gulping down half of the drink with a wince. 

_Merlin_. The Draught of Living Death couldn’t taste much worse than DMLE regulation coffee. The side effects were probably pretty similar too. 

With an audible sigh, Harry searched through the biscuit barrel and predictably came up with nothing. He’d skipped breakfast to get a few more minutes kip, so now he faced the prospect of a morning with only this poison fermenting in his belly. 

Monday morning, and his day had already gone to shit. 

Walking over to his desk Harry did his best to avoid the friendly glances of his Auror colleagues. He kept his head down, stubbornly refusing eye contact. There wasn’t anything that Harry loathed more than the curious, sympathetic nosiness of others and since leaving St. Mungos he felt like he was being examined from every angle. Fuck. It was worse than when he’d been a teenager. Fighting Voldemort, walking into the Dark Forest, even being _the Chosen One?_ Making those choices, at least, had felt like his fate. 

Now Harry just felt like a freak. Felt exposed, vulnerable and foolish. 

He shuffled into place behind his desk before slamming his coffee cup down with more force than he’d meant. Despite the mouthfuls he’d already swallowed, black fluid slopped over the side, staining the overflowing parchment pile that littered the surface of his desk. 

Harry shook his head, fumbling for his wand before the document was ruined forever. Everyday was a litany of clumsiness and mistakes. His whole life felt twice as hard since the St. Mungos. Spells that Harry had mastered since the age of eleven were a struggle; his brain felt clouded and confused. Every sacrosanct truth that Harry had believed about himself was a chimera. 

The weekends were the worst times, though. As each interminable hour stretched into the next his head would ache and loneliness would coil deep in his gut. 

Harry’s mates had been great, of course. They’d pulled together, looked after him and were supportive to a fault. Ron and Hermione had made him stay over at their home, telling him that Grimmauld Place wasn’t a suitable place to recover and Harry had been more grateful than he’d dared express. They’d taken Harry out for meals and to the Quidditch and not even seemed to care that he’d become a perennially grumpy sod in the weeks after leaving the hospital. 

Harry twirled his wand and cast a _Scourgify_. The worst of the coffee stain soon disappeared, leaving only the faintest trace of his clumsiness. Annoyed with himself, Harry pulled open the nearest file and tried to focus on actually achieving something positive with his day. 

The case was a ludicrous, pretty crime and his report was already days overdue. The words swam on the page as he tried to recall the details of the case and in his hands the quill felt slick and scratchy. Circe’s bloody tits. Being at home was hard enough but being here in the office? Harry was struggling to focus and could hardly keep awake. He drank another mouthful of coffee, willing himself to stay awake. This must be what it felt like when your whole body was _Stupefied_. 

Despite every fibre of his being telling him it was a bad idea, Harry raised his head, his eyes roaming over the office. All Harry needed was a small glimpse. One momentary glance and then he thought he’d be able to work. He’d pull out all the stops and complete every case on his desk. 

Draco was there, of course. Sat in the DMLE office like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Like he wasn’t splintering Harry’s heart with just his presence. 

Harry could see the shine of Malfoy’s white-blond hair, leant over his desk in the opposite corner of the room. The Magi-Evidence Inspector was wearing a grey sweater with a crisp white shirt beneath. Draco looked smart, Harry thought. _Tidy_. Certainly better put together than Harry could manage nowadays. He’d heard on the Ministry grapevine that Draco had returned to live the Manor after their shared trip to St. Mungos. It made sense, really. There’d be an army of Elves to look after Draco’s every need while he recovered and Narcissa to care for him as well. That was good; the idea that Draco might be lonely or suffering like he was made Harry’s heart twist uncomfortably inside his chest. 

It seemed to Harry that Draco felt his gaze drift over him, for the wizard chose that very second to look up in his direction. Harry immediately dropped his eyes, heat flooding his features with embarrassment. He picked up his quill, writing nonsense with unseeing eyes. After that mortification, Harry would quite happily have sat behind his desk for the rest of his career, but unfortunately Robards had different ideas. 

“Potter!” he boomed, striding out of his office and across the room towards him. “You’ve got a case. Couple of imbeciles decided to whip their wands out near the Apothecary on Knockturn and start throwing spells. We’ve got the suspects in a cell in the holding area up at Azkaban but I want you down at the scene. Talk to witnesses. See if you can ascertain exactly which spells were used. And I want you to take Malfoy… It’s a busy thoroughfare and I’d like a Magi-Evidence Inspector’s perspective on the scene. Last thing we want is a member of the public getting hurt-”

Harry felt his heart sink. “Can’t Ron or Millicent-”

Robards cut him off before he even finished speaking. “ _No_. Take Malfoy and floo to the scene. Whatever bloody issues there might be still be rumbling between the pair of you, they halt when you’re here. You represent the DMLE like professionals. Understand?”

Harry did. He knew better than to argue with Gawain Robards. The wizard, a big old-fashioned Welshman couldn't abide any kind of conflict in his ranks. It wasn’t like Harry had the energy to disagree anyway. His limbs felt tired and his head ached. At least if he were outside, he’d be able to breathe a little more clearly. Trapped here in the office he hadn’t achieved much of anything. Standing, Harry summoned his coat with a twist of his wand and rummaged though the drawers of his desk for his field kit. A quick _Engorgio_ had that spelled back to its regular size and he threw the bag over his shoulder. There was no time like the present. With a small inhale, Harry marched across the room to Draco’s desk. 

Malfoy stood as Harry approached, brushing away a stand of hair that had fallen across his face. He looked far thinner than before their visit to St. Mungos but as svelte and graceful as ever. He shot Harry an awkward smile as the Auror came to stand beside his workspace. 

“Robards just gave us a job,” Harry said, his voice sounding scratchy, overly loud and ridiculous. He paused, forcing himself to meet Draco’s grey eyed gaze before continuing. “Couple of prats decided to duel in public. Wants us to floo over and take a look.” The two wizards stood together in silence for a few seconds. Draco pursed his lips and Harry thought that perhaps Draco was going to argue, or kick up a fuss but that didn’t happen. 

Instead, Malfoy collected his soft wool coat from where it hung on the back of his chair. He picked up his satchel from the floor. “Let’s go then, Potter,” Draco said, motioning for Harry to take the lead. “Tell me the details of the case when we arrive at the scene.”

As the pair of them rode in the elevator towards the Ministry Atrium, Harry risked several fleeting glances towards Draco’s profile. 

On the surface, Malfoy looked like the same arrogant, aristocratic prat that he’d been when they studied together at Hogwarts. Draco had the same angular face and sharp chin, the same shock of blond hair and even the same look of pointed distrust in his slate grey eyes. Yet Harry knew that Draco was a fundamentally changed man since St. Mungos. 

Harry knew this for an indisputable truth, for he, too was changed forever.

As Harry watched, Draco unconsciously rubbed at his left forearm, biting his lip a little in irritation. 

Anyone looking on might have uncharitably imagined that the Dark Mark was causing Malfoy irritation, but Harry knew far better. Harry, after all felt exactly the same pain as he did. Felt the same burning and soreness. Beneath Malfoy’s layers of wool and cotton, Harry knew that Draco’s left forearm would be smooth; unmarked by nothing more than Voldemort’s brand. 

In comparison, Harry could picture his own scarred forearm perfectly. Harry’s left forearm was gnarled and puckered, the skin tight and pink where the _Diffindo_ had slashed and cut and another disfigurement had been added to his collection. 

With a Herculean effort, Harry forced his eyes away from Draco Malfoy and tried to think about the Knockturn duel. Tried to focus on the here and now, and the job they’d been given. Tried to think about anything other than St. Mungos and everything that the Mediwizard had told them both. Harry grit his teeth, desperate to dislodge the memories of that fateful, damp afternoon from racing through his brain. 

~@~

The day had been grey and overcast, Harry remembered that much. 

He’d cast an Umbrella Charm but for some reason the spell hadn’t taken properly. As the Auror Mission Team had waited tensely for Robard’s signal he’d felt the heavy drizzle dampen his hair and soak through to his collar. Ron, Millicent, Draco and he had been investigating an illegal den of Werewolves living in north London. 

Harry hadn’t felt comfortable about the situation at all. Something about the isolated, derelict squat just felt _off_ in a way he couldn’t put his wand on. All of his experience was telling him that this raid was going to end with disaster. 

Harry had shared his concerns with the rest of the team but Robards had been quick shoot him down. “Nothing more dangerous that unregistered Werewolves, Potter,” Robard’s voice had rumbled. “Risk to the Muggle and the Magic population both. We need to shut them down ASAP, lad.” 

Millie and Ron had taken the back while Draco and he had taken the front door. Their _Alohomora_ spell had hardly had the time to take the before their whole Mission went south faster than a Goblin down a Vault. The Werewolves had been horribly paranoid, strung out on Muggle drugs and illegally brewed potions. Harry hadn’t even managed an _Expelliarmus_ before he was smashed in the arm with the insane agony of a hastily flung _Diffindo_. 

Harry still thanked Merlin every single day for Draco’s quick reaction. Malfoy had been beside him in moments, side-Apparating the pair of them straight to St. Mungos with little more than minutes to spare before his blood loss would have been fatal. 

The memories straight after the _Diffindo_ were hazy now but Harry could still recall how rapid the Mediwitches had been in response to his trauma. They’d set up an IV of Healing Potion and quickly set up Monitoring Spells all around his bed. The last thing that Harry remembered as he slipped into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness was Draco stood beside him. “Don’t worry, Potter,” Draco had joked, though his face had been serious. “I’m not going anywhere. It’ll take more than a few drops of blood to scare me off.”

Harry had woken several hours later to the midnight dark of a private room and a forearm that burned with harrowing pain. His waking must have tripped the Monitoring Spell as a Mediwizard rushed through the door almost immediately. 

“Please don’t try to sit up, Auror. Potter,” he’d said, running to Harry’s bedside. “You’re on several powerful potions.” 

Even thought Harry had been in a half-delirious haze of pain he had watched while the wizard twirled his wand, checking Harry’s heart rate and blood pressure. Bright lines of electric blue magic appeared around the edges of Harry’s body, pulsing and dancing, and the Mediwizard watched them intently. The Mediwizard pulled a self-inking Quill from his robe pockets and wrote something on the parchment roll at the end of his bed. 

After the passage of only moments, the wizard uttered a _Finite_ and the room was plunged once more into semi-darkness. 

“I’m pleased with your progress, Harry,” he’d uttered, giving Harry a small smile. “That _Diffindo_ caught you at a nasty angle but apart from a bit of scarring they’ll be no permanent nerve damage. All _very_ straightforward. Now, your Mr. Malfoy? That’s a different story. Collapsed in excruciating pain not long after you two both came in… Complaining of a pain in his forearm, in exactly the same spot as your own injury. None our Healers here can figure out precisely what’s happened. Can you recall if he was hit with any unusual spells? I know it all happened really fast-”

Harry had shook his head, unable to give the Mediwizard an answer. Malfoy hadn’t been hit once during the raid: the only person that had been injured during the ambush had been Harry himself. Ron had fire-called later that morning, confirming the fact. “Analysed every wand taken out of the Werewolf nest myself, mate,” Ron had answered, baffled. “The only defensive magic cast was that bloody _Diffindo_. Whatever Draco is suffering from, it wasn’t the result of that firefight.”

For several days afterwards, the Mediwizards had been bewildered and had run test after test. Nothing made even a Sickle of difference to the excruciating pain coiling though Draco’s arm until a sudden miracle occurred. Bored, tired and frightened, Draco had slipped out from the Magi-Investigatory Ward. He had come seeking Harry, hoping that if the two wizards met face to face, it might trigger a new memory of their attack. 

That hadn’t happened, of course, but something much more shocking had occurred once Draco had managed to get inside Harry’s room: Draco’s pain had diminished immediately. 

In fact, both Harry and Draco’s conditions had improved radically as soon as they were both in each others company. Even more oddly, when Draco had left the room to return to his own Ward, terrible pain had flared through his arm once again. More tests were run, ever more esoteric spells were cast and the two men were forced to imbibe some of the vilest potions that Harry had ever tried. 

Every time that Harry and Draco left each others side they became ill and listless and every time they were reunited they were restored to health. In all honesty, Harry thought afterwards, their malady _should_ have been unmistakable, but that still didn’t mean that he wanted to believe the truth of what he’d been told. 

“You’re bonded soulmates,” Chief Mediwizard Jones had explained kindly, taking in the pair of them with watery blue eyes. “It’s quite unmistakable. Now, I appreciate that this must come as a massive surprise-”

Harry had starred at the old wizard in utter disbelief. 

“It’s not a surprise because it isn’t _bloody_ true,” Harry had interrupted, his voice sounding rough and panicky even to his own ears. “Of course Malfoy and I aren't fucking soulmates. What the hell are you talking about?” 

Harry paused and looked across at Draco. The blond’s face was ashen and a look of utter disbelief filled his pinched, furious features. “Where exactly have you got this idea?” Harry managed. “I’m not soul-bonded. It’s not possible… I’d fucking know it by now! I’m twenty- _bloody_ -four!”

Mediwizard Jones gave Harry a thoughtful look. “I thought that you’d disbelieve me, Mr. Potter.” The old man took off his glasses and gave them a clean with his tie as he continued to speak. “You’re absolutely correct: you and Mr. Malfoy are, by all accounts, far too old to discover your shared soul-bond… Witches and wizards normally present as soulmates during adolescence. Were this a traditional case, then I’ve no doubt that you’d have both started feeling each other’s pain and emotions as you both entered puberty-”

“I felt no such thing,” Draco broke in, voice enraged and contemptuous. “ _Nothing_. I broke Potter’s bloody nose once at school and he fucking cursed me! Slashed my chest open with a _Sectumsempra!_ ” 

Harry watched as Draco leaned back in his chair, face clouded with memories of their school years. Every word that Malfoy had said was true: he’d never once felt Draco’s pain or emotions within him. The pair of them had duelled and fought on many occasions and not once had he felt even a twinge of pain. 

“That’s why your case is so interesting,” Jones replied, dismissing both Harry and Draco’s objections with a wave of his hand. “I’ve looked at Auror. Potter’s life history, and I do believe that your soul-bond was entirely repressed by his experiences as a young child. Even though your souls were entirely compatible, they simply couldn’t link. You see, Auror. Potter was carrying a part of another’s soul. _Voldemort_ … Mr. Malfoy, I do believe that your subconscious recognised the presence of a third part and, as a result, rejected the soul-bond entirely. I do believe that this situation might have carried on for the rest of your lives had you both not have been in such a traumatic scenario last week. My Magi-medical team are of the opinion that you soul-bond flared into sudden life, so to speak-”

Harry shook his head, anxiety flooding his body. Whatever Jones was saying surely couldn't be true. Harry understood plenty about soul-bonds and the limits they placed on your life. Hermione and Ron were a bonded pair, as were his friends Dean and Seamus. Each of them could feel the pain of the other and suffered an awful ennui and loneliness when the other wasn’t beside them. 

The truth was, Harry had always been secretly glad he wasn’t bonded. He’d never wanted that level of intimacy with another person. _Fuck_. Harry didn’t truthfully believe he was capable of it. What did he know about love or relationships? His parents had been soulmates but they were both dead. He hadn’t grown up with role models who’d shown him how to love and commit. Harry knew he was a damaged, difficult man since the War, and not one that willingly shared his private life with any other person. For him romance consisted of quick, dirty one night stands with anonymous men and that suited him perfectly. 

“No!” Harry found himself shouting, almost pleading with the Mediwizard to take back his words. “I didn’t ask for this… A soul-bond is the very last thing I wanted. I’m nobody’s soulmate and I never will be. I’ve got my life exactly where I want it. I’m happy.. Happy as I am!”

Jones raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. 

“Soulmate magic is still so little understood, Harry,” Jones replied, “and I genuinely wish I had answers for why it calls two partners into a bonded union… Perhaps we’ll never know. I do know this much, though. Draco and yourself are soul-bonded and that fact cannot be changed. Your magical signatures- no doubt always similar- have fused together completely. Gentlemen: it’d be remiss of me not to tell you that living apart from one another in the future will be very difficult indeed.”

Draco had reacted with a similar horror to Harry’s own. “Live with _Potter?_ ” Draco had hissed, livid. “For the rest of my life? No… I won’t agree to it. They’ll be no mention of this so-called bond to anyone, or else you’ll hear from my lawyers. I’ll live with this bond if I must. But I won’t be forced to live with this sanctimonious prat for the rest of my days. Once his ego moved in then I very much doubt there’d be even an inch of room left!” 

The Mediwizard frowned. “Gentlemen. I don’t think you truly understand. This isn’t something that is just going to disappear over night. This soul-bond will exist for the rest of your lives. If you don’t make good decisions now, the impact on your long term health could be disastrous.” 

But Harry _had_ understood. This soul-bond wanted to upturn his life and destroy everything he held dear. Wanted him to commit the rest of his days to stuck-up, self-righteous Draco Malfoy whom, if Harry was being really truthful, he still hadn’t completely forgiven. The two men had nothing in common, had no shared friends or interests. How dare the soul-bond choose him a person like that? 

No, Harry had decided. He was going to reject the soul-bond’s calling. Reject Draco Malfoy. It wouldn’t be effortless, Harry reckoned, but then nothing in his life had ever come that easily. He’d been in worse straits before though, and he’d always come out on top. All Harry needed was to give himself a little time. Let himself adjust. Sooner or later, this soul-bond would all become his new normal. 

Well, at least Harry had hoped so. 

~@~

The thing was, being soul-bonded had been far harder than Harry could ever have imagined. 

Moving in with Ron and ‘Mione had been a godsend, but Harry couldn’t escape the fact that his life had suddenly felt stripped of colour and joy. Harry had always been a heavy sleeper, yet suddenly finding rest was a challenge. Whenever he did manage to sleep, taunting, erotic images of Draco plagued his few dreams. 

Harry found he couldn't bear to return to Grimmauld Place either. His disorganised, chaotic existence felt all of a sudden both empty and meaningless. He roamed the barren rooms feeling a deep loneliness. Even food and drink had lost their appeal, and though he forced down meal after meal Harry could scarcely remember what he’d eaten. 

Now, as the pair of wizards walked towards the Atrium floos, Harry wondered for the millionth time whether he’d made the right decision back in that tiny room at St. Mungos. 

It was bizarre, really. The simple fact of being in close proximity to Draco relieved the weight that Harry carried every single day of his life. His presence calmed the anxieties that burnt through his body like Fiendfyre. He sneaked a second look at Draco and fancied that the other wizard looked more peaceful too, though he supposed that might have been his imagination. 

The two men soon located a suitable floo point, and Harry stepped inside first, shoving his body into the far corner of the fireplace. He was always very careful not to touch Draco, fearing the effects of even a mistaken brush of the shoulders. Draco was equally conscientious, angling his body away from Harry awkwardly as he threw down the floo powder and announced their destination. 

After only two minutes of walking the two wizards found themselves outside the Knockturn Apothecary. A flick of Harry’s wand put both Draco and he inside the active crime scene wards put in place by the first response Auror team. 

Draco mumbled something about wanting to check the perimeter for evidential curse traces, whilst Harry rechecked the memories of the ancient witch who ran the Apothecary business. 

This crime certainly wasn’t the evildoing that would normally require the skills of either a Lead Auror or a Magi-Evidence Inspector but Harry still wanted to cover all the bases. Harry reviewed the witch’s memories in his pocket-Pensive and concluded that there wasn’t anything unheralded or unexpected about this crime. As far as Harry could tell, all the spells that had been thrown were a few Jelly-Legs Jinxes, a Stinging Hex and a Conjunctivitis Curse. The defendants would get a stern warning from the Wizengamot, Harry expected, nothing more. 

Harry gathered together his magic and willed himself out from inside the memory. There wasn’t much more for either Draco or himself to do here at the scene. Harry removed himself from the Apothecary with a promise to keep the old witch updated about the crime. 

Harry walked out into the thin sunlight to find Draco waiting outside. 

“There’s nothing doing here,” Harry muttered to the Magi-Evidence Inspector. “Just a few simple bloody spells that even the dimmest of Hogwarts students could manage.”

Draco gave Harry a half-smile, and focussed on buttoning up his coat. 

“I couldn’t find any risks to the Wizarding public,” Draco replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “No evidence of any curses thrown nor any real dark magic. I’ve sent a Patronus back to Robards recommending that we drop the wards. It’s been a bloody pity to have been out here arsing about in the cold half the day but there we are.” 

There didn’t seem to be much else to say after that and the two wizards lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as they trudged back towards the floo point. Their whole morning’s work reeked of a deliberate ruse to force the pair of them together but Harry wasn’t wiling to admit that aloud.

In the weeks since St. Mungos, neither Harry nor Draco had spoken to each other about what had happened or the existence of their soul-bond. 

For Harry at least, it just felt too raw and too enormous to even consider putting into words. As they walked over the cobbled pavements of Knockturn Alley, Harry wondered haplessly how he’d ever even begin have that conversation with the man pacing beside him. So much for his famed Gryffindor bravery, Harry decided dismally, sadness welling in his gut. 

Just the idea of having a conversation with Draco that wasn’t short and utterly professional filled him with a nervous dread. 

~@~

When they arrived back at the Ministry the two men parted almost immediately. 

“I’ll owl you if the tests show anything unusual,” Draco muttered at Harry’s departing back, but Harry refused to acknowledge him. 

A morning in Draco’s company had left Harry’s aching head clearer than it had been in weeks and momentarily erased the pain occupying his heart. Time spent with Draco made Harry weak; made him vulnerable. Time spent with Draco made Harry truly doubt that he could fight their soul-bond forever. 

Desperate to avoid the DMLE office, Harry made his way to the Ministry Canteen. A morning consuming nothing except coffee had left Harry nauseous with hunger and he hoped that the noisy confusion of the Canteen would be a distraction from the riot of thoughts in his head. 

Harry levitated his tray before him, before choosing the Shepherd's Pie. He walked over to where he’d spied Ron sat in the middle of the room. 

“You look better, mate,” Ron said easily when Harry slouched down beside him. “Colour in your cheeks, spring in your step. That’s what happens when you’re beside your soulmate, Harry. _Everything_ starts to feel better.”

Harry chose not to reply and merely grunted in response.

He focussed on shovelling a forkful of Shepherd's Pie into his mouth and tried to ignore his best-friend’s opinion. It was _different_ for Ron and Hermione. They’d known from early in their teenage years that they were destined for each other. Their temperaments and values were similar. Ron was laid-back, caring: the perfect counterbalance to Hermione’s perfectionism. To Harry, the idea of one without the other felt odd and unnatural. His best-friends fulfilled each other; made one another whole. They were _happy_. They were complete. 

How could they understand the indignity of a forced soul-bond with Draco Malfoy, a man he disdained, disliked and hardly knew? But Ron, it seemed, wasn’t going to give up so easily. 

“We’re worried about you… You and Draco both,” Ron continued, breaking only to drink a mouthful of Pumpkin juice. “Hermione and me? We know that this soul-bond wasn’t something that either of you asked for. But Harry? You’ve been my best mate since I was eleven… I’ve gotta be honest with you. This soul-bond? It isn’t going away.”

Harry felt a spasm of annoyance run though his body and he found himself speaking more harshly than he might have liked.

“You sound like that bloody Mediwizard,” Harry replied, pushing the food around his plate. “And, yeah, before you tell me again, I know that living without Malfoy stuck to my side is bad for my health. But how, exactly am I supposed to live with a man like him? Malfoy is self-righteous, cliquish, petulant. It’s not like you and ‘Mione. The pair of you? Well, you’re perfect. A true-love pairing. But Draco and me? Ron, you know it couldn’t ever work-”

“Hermione and me haven’t always had it so easy,” Ron interrupted with a frown. “Just because we’ve a soul-bond doesn't mean we haven’t had to work hard at our relationship, Harry. Yeah, you and Draco have a pretty chequered past but that doesn’t mean that neither of you deserve a brighter future-”

Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge Ron’s words from his brain. 

He didn’t _want_ Draco. They were too different. They had too much history, too many hexes, curses and harshly-spoken words under the bridge for them to ever have some happily-ever-fantasy existence. 

“I’m not going to have my future dictated to me,” Harry spat out. His dinner suddenly looked unappetising and Harry pushed in his fork, unable to to eat another mouthful. “Draco’s future isn’t going to involve the pair of us together. There isn’t some blissful reunion, or pulsing love affair on the horizon, Ron. It’ll never happen.” Harry stood and looked down at his best-friend with a pitying face. “I’m sorry mate, but Draco and I? _We’re_ an impossibility.” 

~@~

It was roughly three weeks after the Knockturn duel that Harry Potter’s resolve finally broke. 

He’d moved back to Grimmauld Place despite the objections of the Weasley-Grangers and the self-enforced isolation had driven Harry half out of his mind. The unpredictable sleep that had taunted and teased him since St. Mungos had decided to desert him completely and Harry found himself spending long nights fitfully wandering the empty rooms or watching mindless Muggle television. 

Harry found that he could hardly recognise the wizard staring back at himself in the mirror. His face was gaunt and his body a collection of sharp, emaciated angles. His clothes hung off him like rags. Food tasted like dry clay on his lips while his throat ached too much to swallow more than a few mouthfuls. Colleagues whispered behind his back but Harry felt too exhausted to put on a brave face. Firewhiskey could buy a few hours of blessed relief but the self-loathing when he awoke broke his heart. 

Harry felt cornered by his soul-bond: caught like a rat in a trap. 

His panic eventually overwhelmed him late on a Friday evening. Sleep wasn’t anywhere close to happening and there wasn’t a way to shut off the stream of images that punctured his consciousness. Draco shivering, bleeding and close to death on a wet bathroom floor… Draco nearly consumed by the Fiendfyre that had just killed his friend… Draco sat in St. Mungos, shaking as he was told of their soul-bond…

Without even formulating a plan Harry found himself clutching his wand in tight, white-knuckled fingers. Harry looked down at his hand, entirely aware of what he was going to do next but without feeling like he had any control over his actions. Some wispy, indistinct part of his consciousness told Harry that the soul-bond had taken over but he couldn’t fight the force of it any longer. 

The compulsion was too powerful. Harry had to see Draco. He had to see his soulmate. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying urgently to fight the urge but there was nothing, _nothing_ he could do. He was working entirely on impulse. 

All of a sudden the wizard found himself turning on the spot and the unbearable pressure of Apparition crushing every cell of his body. Every piece of air was shoved from Harry’s lungs as he was catapulted through space and forced to land in an ungainly heap on the damp lawn of Malfoy Manor. Harry’s whole body felt as unstable as a _Confundus_ Charm, but his mind was entirely clear. 

_Draco. He needed Draco._

Harry got up on wobbly legs and hammered on the magnificent arched door, expecting some House-Elf to answer. What Harry had never expected was for Draco to answer the door himself. 

Draco looked more casual than Harry had ever seen him, wearing a thin grey pyjama bottoms and a soft looking tee-shirt. Draco’s blond hair looked tousled without the styling charm that he habitually used. His sharp face was pinched and wary. “Potter,” Draco said, his voice low. “I knew that you’d come tonight. I’ve been able to feel our _bond_ tonight. Felt it burning through my veins.” 

Draco’s words slowed into silence and both men simply stared at each other. 

_Soulmates_ , Harry thought. _Bonded_. Harry didn’t want to believe that it was the truth but he felt so tired. Felt an exhaustion deep within his psyche. Being in Draco’s presence was enough to settle Harry’s frayed nerves, calm the anxious tension that had relentlessly grown within him. 

The two men were silent for several heartbeats, then Harry pushed past Draco and into the faded elegance of the Manor. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Harry spat out, powerless with both rage and desire. “Didn’t want to be soul-bonded with a man I can’t abide. A man I don’t even _like_. It’s destroying my fucking sanity… My friendships… My health. Making me piss-poor at my job… I didn’t _want_ this-”

“You think I wanted this?” Draco shot back, anger filling his pinched features. He rocked back on his heels, taking in every inch of Harry with judgemental eyes. “Think I wanted to soul-bond with _you_ , the Ministry golden boy? Your ego is completely ridiculous, Potter. Have you heard yourself? _My_ sanity. _My_ friends. _My_ job.” Draco huffed out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “Ever since St. Mungos, this whole situation has been all about you. You’ve never once considered that this has destroyed my existence too… You’ve never once considered that this is a situation that we both need to deal with.”

Harry raked a hand through his knotty mess of hair, driven close to distraction. 

“You’re insane, Malfoy. You were at school and you’ve still not changed. I don’t care what that bloody Mediwizard said. I’m not your bonded mate and I _never_ will be.” Harry felt his fists clench at his sides. He wanted to wipe Malfoy’s stupid, aristocratic smirk straight off his face. Every fibre in his being told him to swing for the wizard, but Harry found he couldn’t do it. 

Draco stepped closer, trying to loom over Harry, trying to mock and ridicule. The Slytherin stood so close now, and Harry could see the tired lines etched on his face, could see the minute flecks of colour in his grey eyes. He could see the tiniest of beauty spots beneath his left eye. 

“But you _are_ ,” Draco hissed. “The great Harry Potter, brought to his knees. I knew that you’d come tonight, Potter. Knew that you’d be at my door. I could feel the pulse of you inside my body. Feel the heat of your need-” 

Harry felt his heart hammer against his ribs at their closeness. 

Every part of his mind wanted to reject- to _destroy_ \- their bond but the sheer eroticism coursing through his body let Harry know exactly how futile such thoughts were. Draco’s sharp citrus scent filled his nostrils. Harry could see the man’s pulse race in his throat and he bit back his desire to kiss at the thin, tender flesh. 

Without even realising he was doing it, Harry reached out, seizing Draco by the arm. 

All Harry had wanted was to make Draco stop speaking, but that first touch of Draco’s bare arm felt wonderful. Harry felt faint with sexual desire and even the edge of his eyesight went hazy. Shock waves collided and fizzed down the length of Harry’s spine. 

The small space between Draco and he felt charged with magic and the soul-bond throbbed through Harry’s consciousness. Draco raised his hand too. He clamped it onto Harry’s shoulder and Harry felt the heat of the other man’s contact even through the thin material. Without even being aware of how it had happened Harry realised that the two of them had pushed their bodies together, their taut, heaving chests pressed close. 

A miasma of lust and delirium filled the air between them. 

“Look at me, Potter” Draco stuttered out, his words a rumble from deep within his chest. “You want this, want me. I know you do. You want this as much as I do-”

Harry knew that looking into Draco’s eyes would be his undoing. That simple action would break the thin cord that still held the remnants of his sanity and the last shreds of his good sense. It would be the end of his whole existence and the beginning of something wholly new and terrifying. 

Harry knew this, yet he raised his gaze and locked eyes with Draco’s own anyway. 

And then, suddenly there were soft lips pressed against Harry’s own. Draco and he were kissing, and it felt to Harry as if fireworks were exploding inside his soul. Harry couldn’t tell if it’d been he that had closed that final few inches or Draco. Perhaps that didn’t matter. Every very piece of tension, fury and despair that Harry had felt squatting in his chest since they’d left St. Mungos dissolved alongside Draco’s kiss: Harry felt lighter than the air itself. 

Harry raised a hand to the back of Draco’s head and he pulled the other wizard close. Draco’s hair was as satin-soft under his fingers as Harry had fantasised. He groaned with immediate arousal, deepening their embrace. Draco tasted so clean. He tasted like toothpaste and mouthwash and Harry pushed his tongue inside, wanting to exploring every inch of Draco’s heated, pliant mouth. 

It was all so much better than anything that Harry had experienced before or anything that he’d dared imagine. 

Harry hadn’t ever been one for kissing, not really. He had always felt like kissing was a waste of his time when there were other, sexier, things that could be achieved. Kissing Draco was different; this held an intensity that he’d never experienced with a previous partner. All of a sudden, Harry felt a twinge of panic: was Draco enjoying this as much as he was? He hadn’t shaved or showered before he’d Apparated over. Harry doubted that his teeth tasted particularly fresh either, not after several weeks of Firewhisky and junk food. 

Harry broke the kiss quickly, but that didn’t seem to suit Draco. The blond wizard grunted with disappointment, using the opportunity to slide in closer to Harry. Draco slid hot, lithe fingers inside of Harry’s shirt and ghosted them over his sides and belly. Fuck, but that felt blissful.

“We’re both wearing too many clothes,” Harry muttered, his fist gathering up the back of Draco’s tee-shirt. “You need to take this off, Malfoy. Got to feel your skin on mine-”

Draco grinned, and pulled off his top in one nimble movement. Harry took in the sight of his soulmates skinny, scarred chest, dusky pink nipples and translucent body hair and he made a noise of pure delight. Harry ripped his own top off so quickly that he felt the material tear. Then he pulled Draco close, his heavy prick tenting the front of his trousers. 

Both men moaned happily at the satin sensation of skin meeting skin. 

“Ah! Draco gasped. “Merlin… _Fuck_. Feels so good. So right.” He kissed Harry hard, his hands exploring the muscles at the base of Harry’s back and dipping lower to coast over the swell of his arse-cheeks. “I’ve fantasied about this moment, Harry. I don’t want to stop-”

Harry didn’t want to stop either. Fully hard now, Harry rolled his hips against Draco’s own, frotting their erections together. He felt a judder of desire roll through his body and goose-bump his skin. Unable to resist, Harry just had to kiss him once more. 

“Here?” Harry asked, “or your bedroom?”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Draco said, taking a step backward and giving Harry a coy smile. “Bedroom, I think. The Silencing Wards are already in place. We wouldn’t want to wake the whole household.” 

Draco moved in close and in a single move, side-Apparated the pair of them up into Draco’s bedroom. Harry watched as as Draco twirled his wand with a wordless _Lumos_ that illuminated the room with a warm, subtle light. The bedroom was just as tidy as Draco’s workspace, without the piles of grubby clothes and clutter that always seemed to gather at Grimmauld Place. The walls were painted a pale grey-green and a vast bed completed the scene. It dominated the end wall, topped neatly by a thick duvet and piles of pillows. 

And, within moments the two wizards found themselves kissing once more. 

Their embraces were passionate and so full of need. Harry knew implicitly that Draco was everything he’d craved since St. Mungos. Perhaps Draco was everything he’d craved for a lifetime. Their soul-bond added a dimension of arousal that Harry had never felt with a previous partner and Harry groaned, abandoning himself to the pure sensation of bodily contact. Draco’s hands were slowly sweeping across his back, coasting across his skin. It felt more than amazing and Harry wondered whether Draco was trying to memorise every single detail. 

Harry took Draco’s lead and slid his calloused fingers around the wizard’s waist. Draco’s skin was smooth, and pliant and Harry felt the heat of their soul-bond track through his palms. He let his hand drift downwards and over the thick cotton of Draco’s pyjama bottoms. The blond wizard had beautiful arse-cheeks, perfectly pert and round, and Harry let his hand linger, enjoying the gentle curve beneath his fingertips. His the other hand held tight to the jut of Draco’s hip. 

“More,” Draco whispered, undulating his pelvis beneath Harry’s hands. “ _Please_. I need more.” Draco placed his hand over his own and he felt the blond slide it relentlessly away from his hip. Without hesitating, Draco placed Harry’s hand atop the hard outline of his own full, excited prick. Harry cupped it within his hands, squeezing a little. He felt the reward of Draco’s full-body quiver against him. Draco hands flew to Harry’s jeans opening, and he began pulling gracelessly at the buttons that fastened them together. 

“Salazar!” Draco uttered, taking a step backwards to see what he was doing. “Why can’t I do this-” 

Harry reached out too, desperate to unknot Draco’s pyjamas when Draco paused. He stilled in surprise at the scarred sight of Harry’s left forearm. “I haven’t seen your arm since the raid,” Draco said, eyes roaming over the damaged skin. “The _Diffindo_. I’ve felt it plenty though. Aches late at night, doesn’t it? And whenever you’re feeling tired?”

Harry looked down at his arm. Scars had accumulated on his body since he’d been a baby, but this new gnarled, knotted tear in his flesh still astonished him anew whenever he saw it. Draco was right: while the pain had mostly dissipated, the sting of the wound still bit on occasion. 

However much Harry might still have wanted to deny it, the soul-bond between them felt powerful, felt true. Draco could feel Harry’s pain inside his own body. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his voice resigned. He rubbed at the tight skin with the edges of his fingers. “It hurts the most when I’m exhausted.”

Harry leaned in to press a bruising kiss on Draco then, not wanting to speak any longer about their soul-bond. The time for words had passed. Harry craved Draco. Coveted Draco. He crowded the blond man back onto his bed and then he crawled on top of him. As their lips crashed together, rough and forceful, Harry worked open the knot of Draco’s pyjamas and he slid them down fully over his thighs. 

Draco’s cock was beautiful, long, thick and already slick with pre-cum. Harry slid his fingers along the length, enjoying how heavy and how the silky smooth Draco’s prick felt within his hands. Draco gasped in enjoyment and his hands knotted once more in Harry’s waistband. 

At long last Harry’s jeans popped open, and Draco tugged them down as far as he could manage. Harry’s cock sprang free, full, erect and indisputable evidence of his attraction. He wriggled free from their embrace and the two wizards separated only briefly to rip off the off the rest of their clothes. Finally both men were nude. They rolled back together, body pressed against body and it felt more like perfection than anything else Harry could ever have imagined. Heat rolled through his body; he knotted his fingers through Draco’s blond hair, pulling the other man’s lips to his in a searing, needy kiss. 

This was exactly where he needed to be, Harry thought. The only place he really belonged: in the arms of his soulmate. Harry angled his body so that Draco’s cock brushed warmly against his own. The friction between them felt intoxicating and Harry knew that he’d not manage full sex with Draco, not tonight. He was too wound up; too tightly coiled. 

_Merlin_. Harry was so hard that he didn’t think he’d last more than a few minutes anyway. 

“Just this,” Harry stuttered out, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he arched his cock up to rub a steady line against Draco’s own “This already feels like too much. It’s so intense… I won’t last, Draco. I can’t. I’m sorry… I’ve never experienced anything as powerful as this before-”

“Then I’ll take care of you,” Draco murmured, breaking free of both their kiss and their embrace. Harry made a noise of displeasure at Draco’s sudden absence, watching as Draco searched frantically through his bedside drawer. He returned triumphantly with a bottle of lube. “I’ll make us both feel special.”

Draco fumbled the lid off and slicked up his fingers, before reaching down his hand. Harry gasped in pleasure as Draco wrapped his palm around both of their erections, stroking and squeezing with a skilful, adoring touch. Harry panted as Draco deliberately took his time, teasingly twisting their foreskins together on every upstroke. Every touch felt breathtaking and Harry felt his orgasm start to build after what seemed like mere seconds. 

Even through his haze of pleasure Harry managed to cast his eyes down over Draco. His thin, muscular body was damp with sweat and his aristocratic face was softened with lust; his eyes screwed tightly shut. Draco was going to come soon, and Harry knew that he’d have the remarkable joy of seeing his uptight, fastidious soulmate come entirely undone. Draco’s lips were swollen and red from their kisses and the sight made Harry’s heart flip over with arousal. 

Without even realising that he was about to do so, Harry rolled the pair of them over so that he landed on the top of Draco. To his credit, Draco’s clever fingers never faltered once in their work. “Fuck, but your hands feel fantastic,” Harry managed, wrapping his hands in the silken stands of Draco’s hair. He mussed up the blond’s flawless locks, making him look dishevelled and excited. 

Draco didn’t reply, but his eyes flew open at the sound of Harry’s voice. Draco clasped his spare hand across the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him downwards with a sharp jerk, finding Harry’s lips and lavishing them with kisses. Draco gave a whole body shudder and Harry felt his soulmates entire body tense up in his arms. 

Draco made a small gasp and then Harry felt hot wetness coating his chest and belly. Draco had orgasmed and then Harry couldn't help but follow him straight over the edge. Waves of consuming delight ricocheted through Harry’s whole body, overwhelming every part of his senses. Harry couldn’t move, couldn't breathe and he couldn’t even speak. 

The only thing that existed in Harry’s consciousness was the pleasure rolling through his body and the wizard he held tight within his arms. Harry collapsed onto the thick quilt beside Draco, holding his soulmate close. The pair of wizards were a sticky, sweaty, sated tangle of limbs and Harry felt his whole body tremble as wave after wave of aftershocks crashed through him. 

Harry’s fingertips raked slowly through Draco’s white-blond chest hair while Draco’s hands carded across Harry’s damp curls. The come on their bodies cooled to a sticky mess but neither man thought to cast a _Scourgify_. It seemed easier somehow to lay wrapped in each others arms.

“Circe,” Harry murmured, as his brain slowly came back to life. “This soul-bond of ours. It’s bloody real.”

“Ah, there’s the Ministry’s finest young Auror!” Draco murmured in a lazy voice. Draco gave Harry a lazy smirk and quirked a half-opened grey eye in Harry’s direction. “Excellent detective work there, Potter. I’ve not even a clue what the future holds for either of us now but yes, our bond is there. It’s _real_. I can even feel a prickling in my left forearm now… I expect you can too?”

Harry lay on the soft sheets beside Draco and let his mind wander through every part of his body. Draco was right. Harry could feel the scar tingle in his forearm, as well as a slight tightness in the skin across his chest. Harry hadn’t ever been injured there, but he knew without a doubt what had causing him pain. It had been his wand that had cast the spell. 

“Your _Sectumsempra_ scar,” Harry whispered, tracing a line over the jagged edges that coasted over Draco’s ribs. “Your skin? It feels taut against my ribs too-”

Draco raised his fingers to join with Harry’s own. 

“You can feel that now?” Draco asked. “Our bond must have strengthened even more. That scar always feels a little tighter when I’ve been out of breath… To tell the truth, I don’t really notice it much any more.”

Harry closed his eyes, let his mind drift further around his body. A cushioned, warm feeling had wrapped closely around him and the aches and absence of the last few months had disappeared entirely. The shifting anxieties that had plagued him were missing too. Now, all that Harry felt in his heart was a feeling of rightness and of satisfaction. 

Simply being beside here Draco felt invigorating: Harry’s limbs felt lighter and his head felt clearer than it had in weeks. Even the air in the room felt charged with magic, as if their soul-bond was knotting the two men even further together with very second that passed. It seemed pointless to deny their soul-bond any longer. Harry had no idea what the future held for the pair of them but there was little more that could be decided that night. Weeks of insomnia and long nights wandering through Grimmauld Place were chasing Harry into an exhausted oblivion. Draco cast a cleaning spell over the pair of them and his magic felt long-familiar, somehow; like an extension of his own. 

“Come to bed,” Draco asked, manoeuvring the heavy duvet over the their bodies. “All I want is one night beside you, Harry. One night of blissful sleep. Since St. Mungos I can’t find any rest-”

“Hush” Harry replied, wrapping his arms around Draco’s shoulders. He shuffled his body across the bed so that his chest pressed against Draco’s back and their bodies were one long line of heat. “I’m not leaving. I can’t promise tomorrow but tonight? I belong to you.”


	2. Finding Everything He Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serial killer is stalking wizarding England.

The next morning, Harry was pulled back to consciousness far more rapidly than he would have wished. Rather than the lazy Saturday lay-in that Harry would have preferred, he was jolted awake to the sickly green sparkle of Gawain Robard’s Patronus. Harry had no idea of the time, but it was obviously still the very early hours of the day; thin morning light rippled across the grey-green walls and over the thick pile of the carpet. Harry fumbled beside the bed for the glasses that he’d cast off before sleeping. 

Beside him, Draco slumbered on, face squashed peacefully against the pillow. The pinched tiredness that had clouded Draco’s features ever since St. Mungos had vanished and the blond man looked almost childlike. Harry sat up awkwardly, suddenly very aware of just how very naked he was and how unfamiliar Draco’s bedroom was. Harry forced himself to focus his attentions on the wispy, semitransparent German Shepherd Patronus stood before him. 

Robards was was loyal and as protective of his team as his Patronus creature suggested. Harry knew that he’d never contact the team unless a real emergency had occurred. 

Harry twisted his wand and began the Patronus enchantment. 

“Harry,” announced the Alsatian, speaking in Robards’s soft Welsh accent.“Sorry to get you out of bed at the weekend lad, but you’re all required ASAP at a crime scene. I’m bringing in the whole team. We’ve got ourselves a horrifying murder, Potter. A real nasty one. The sooner this perpetrator locked up in Azkaban the better… Victim is a wizard. Late teens. No immediately obvious cause of death, so I’d like to hear what Magi-Evidence Inspector Malfoy’s opinion is too. Can you collect him, Potter? Bring him along? I’ll meet you both outside the Green Dragon pub off the corner of Diagon-”

Robards’s words ended suddenly and then the Patronus disappeared. Harry felt the same surge of fury that always consumed him whenever there was a needless death inside the wizarding community. Murders were few and far between in England but Harry knew from personal experience the heartache of having someone who loved ripped away from you. The heartache trickled through an entire lifetime. 

“Potter,” Draco said, interrupting Harry’s tumble of thoughts. Harry turned to glance over at his soulmate. The wizard was sat up in bed and had evidently heard most of Robards’s commands. “I heard everything Robards’s Patronus had to say. It shouldn’t take us long to get on scene. I’ll get you some fresh clothes if you want.” 

Harry nodded his assent. Draco’s quilt had pooled around his waist, and in the warmth of the morning Draco’s skin looked smooth, flawless and inviting. Harry felt the siren-song of his soulmate whispering in his ear, but with an effort he managed to force his mind back onto the crime. Draco and he had the rest of their lives to explore what their soul-bond meant but right now both wizards had a responsibility to the magical community that they’d sworn to serve. 

Harry felt a hot surge of purpose and intent bounce through his belly. For the first time in so many months, Harry actually felt like himself. 

“Thank you.” Harry replied, conscious suddenly of his own nakedness. He knew he should have felt shy, or ill at ease but those feelings were curiously absent. Harry felt comfortable in Draco’s company. “This sounds like a bloody dreadful crime scene, Malfoy. Dead body at the Green Dragon. Robards wants your Magi-Evidential expertise. Can I shower?”

Draco stood, _Accio’ing_ fresh clothes from his wardrobe and drawers. He handed them inelegantly to Harry. “These should fit you. Use a tailoring spell any places where they don’t. Bathroom is the first right.”

The shower was powerful and charmed to keep the perfect temperature. Harry hardly recognised the enthusiastic, revitalised Auror that stared back at him in the mirror afterwards. His eyes were bright and his skin shone with health. The clothes were far too fancy for his personal style, of course but Harry wore them nevertheless. They felt like a part of Draco, pressed close by his skin. They even smelt like the sharp lemony aftershave that the wizard wore. 

Harry felt his cheeks flush with mortification. There wouldn’t be a single member of the DMLE that wouldn’t know immediately that Draco and he had slept together the previous night. 

~@~

As soon as Harry arrived at the Green Dragon, any lingering worries about what his colleagues and friends night think about his behaviour or his relationship with Draco vanished entirely from Harry’s mind. Just by looking at the body language of Robards, Ron and Millicent, Harry could tell straight away that this wasn’t going to be a run-of-the-mill Auror case. 

Harry felt a shudder of dread run down his spine. Something horrible had happened here and he only hoped that he’d have the strength and skill to see it through to the bitter end. 

“Our victim is inside,” Robards said, marching over to where Draco and Harry had side-Apparated into the scene. “He’s a young wizard, not long out of Hogwarts. We’ve managed to ID him as a Quentin Rosier. Only nineteen. Was working at the _Daily Prophet_ as a Trainee Journalist. Let’s get you two both inside and see what your initial thoughts are. Malfoy, if you could keep an open mind as to the spells you think might have been used. At them moment we’re coming to the scene blind.”

The two wizards followed Robards inside of the backstreet Public House. Harry nodded a hello to Millie and Ron as Draco and he entered the tatty, broken-down building. Robards twirled his wand, breaking open the security wards than had been put in place by the first responders. Harry hadn’t ever frequented the Green Dragon as a customer, but he’d had plenty of experience visiting there during his years as an Auror. The establishment was known throughout England as a meeting place for criminals, magical creature smugglers and those pathetic few who still believed in Pure-blood supremacy. 

The building was dark, dingy and set back a distance from the main Diagon thoroughfare. Inside the rooms were dirty, covered in peeling paint and lit only superficially by candlelight. This wasn’t a place that a person might happen upon, Harry decided. It wasn’t a place that a person might ever come without a plan to. There had to be some reason that Rosier was here. He must have been meeting somebody. Perhaps he was following up the details for a story? 

Harry shook his head. First he needed to see the body. Only after that could the DMLE start to build up the narrative of what had led to Quentin Rosier’s death. Robards led Harry and Draco up a creaking spiral staircase and down a shabby corridor. As they walked, Robards filled the pair in with everything that he’d discovered so far. 

“We’ve looked at the memories of the Landlady, a Mrs. Jones already. Unfortunately, the old lady had finished off a fair few shots of Firewhiskey by the time that young Mr. Rosier arrived at the scene, so her recollections aren’t much good to us. She can remember that he was in the company of a man that was tall and dark but that’s of no use, really. Most likely, our perpetrator Polyjuiced his features. The pair paid for a room…Then nothing. That’s the last anyone heard until Rosier was discovered this morning.”

At the end of the corridor, Robards pushed open a door. The room beyond was small and the body of Quentin Rosier lay crumpled in a pile beside the bed. Harry squinted, the bright light of a dozen florescent _Lumos’_ oppressive and stark after the dimness of the corridor outside. Rosier was small and slim, and to Harry’s perspective looked very young indeed. Harry felt his heart seize in grief at the tragic waste of a young person's life. 

Beside him, Draco took in a deep breath. “Has the room been scanned for magical traces?” Draco asked, casting his eyes over the grimy walls. “Whatever killed this young man will have left a magical signature, even if our culprit has tried his damnedest to charm it clean.”

Robards nodded. “We’ve had nothing come back yet, unfortunately. I’d like every test and charm you’ve got, Malfoy. No spell left untried. This is a case that’ll explode in our faces if we don’t apprehend our perpetrator quickly. Rosier was one of the _Prophet’s_ own, so no doubt they’ll be awash with righteous indignation… And the public will be terrified if we can’t nail down the magic that killed him. We need this sorting, gentlemen. As soon as we can.” 

Harry and Robards left Draco alone to analyse the scene using his Magi-Evidence Inspector’s kit and walked back out into the scrubby, overgrown yard outside the Green Dragon’s door. 

Robards’s face was grey with worry as he took Harry aside. 

“I’m worried, Potter,” Robards said quietly. “Didn’t want to say anything in front of the rest of the troops yet but I think we might have a serial on our hands here. There’s no one on the team I trust more than you Harry… And so I have to be honest with you. My gut is telling me this case is related to the Evan Yaxley case.”

“Evan Yaxley?” Harry repeated, the name immediately familiar. “The wizard that was murdered, what, two years ago? You never got anyone for him, did you?”

“It was three years ago, Potter and the similarities are striking. Another young male wizard? Sacred Twenty-Eight family? And both of these young men had ancestors that had dabbled in Dark Magic We never even got close to finding Yaxley’s murderer, Harry and I think it’s happened again.”

“If there’s a link to Yaxley’s killer then we’ll find it,” Harry replied, his voice sounding far more confident than he really felt. “We’ll do what we’re trained to do. Follow the evidence and see where it leads. Malfoy is the best Magi-Evidence Inspector in the DMLE. Ron and Millie are collecting the memories of the locals to see if anyone saw or heard anything last night… As soon as I get back to the office, I’ll retrieve the Yaxley case from the Ministry records office and see if we can make any links between them both. 

Harry spent the next few hours at the Green Dragon, collecting testimonies and supporting Ron and Millie. Robards had the heartbreaking job of telling Rosier’s family about the death of their son. Harry sent an owl over to the records office, requesting the Yaxley papers and then focussed his efforts on ensuring that the _Prophet_ didn’t get anywhere near their crime scene. Draco, meanwhile, was busy casting enchantments and collecting small traces from both their victim’s body and the room he was killed in. Harry didn’t really understand all of Draco’s methods but he respected them enormously: the Magi-Evidence that he had collected in previous cases had secured several vital convictions in the Wizengamot. 

By the time Harry returned to the office, he felt jittery and on edge. The whole of the DMLE office felt abuzz with purpose. Nobody wanted this case to go unsolved for even a moment longer than it had to and their focus felt palpable. Sadly, Millie and Ron hadn’t achieved much from their mornings work: either their killer had been exceedingly stealthy, or the wizarding folk who visited the Green Dragon didn’t trust the Auror department. 

Harry spied two large boxes that had been added to the clutter on his desk: all the material from the Evan Yaxley murder. Until Draco came back with the results of his Magi-Evidence testing, Harry decided there was little else to do but start ploughing through the parchments. He sat down, pulling out the first thick file out of with a box with a small sigh before settling down to work. Several hours passed Harry by in what seemed like minutes. The similarities to the Rosier murder were uncanny and Harry tore through the pages breathlessly. 

Both wizards had been recent Hogwarts graduates, both killed with a yet unknown magical curse. 

Both men had been members of Sacred Twenty-Eight families and both had been killed without any the creation of any noise or fuss. Evan Yaxley had been found in a long-abandoned shop in the wizarding region of Manchester. Despite huge efforts from the DMLE, the case had soon cooled with very little in the way of leads ever becoming apparent. Harry hadn’t even been in the country at the time. He’d been on secondment to MACUSA in America but even in Salem the Yaxley case had still made lurid headlines. Now, it seemed that their killer had struck once more. 

Harry was just about to undo the envelope of crime scene photographs when Draco strode into the middle of the office. The wizard looked debonair and as immaculate as always, but Harry felt his heart race at the very sight of his newly-admitted soulmate. His brain cheerfully overlaid images of tussled hair and flushed, aroused cheeks atop the neat professional that stood before their team. A dozen images of Draco lain upon his soft, white quilt made his pulse rocket skyward… 

“Can everyone come into my office, please?” Draco asked in a clear, steady voice. He looked around at all of the team, pausing for only a millisecond longer on Harry. Harry hoped his ardour didn’t look quite as obvious as it felt. “I’ve completed all the Magi-Evidence testing on the Rosier case, so if everyone would like to follow me into the office, I think I can explain how our young man was killed.”

Draco had set up a row of chair around his slide projector, and with a flick of his wand, he _Nox’ed_ the light. 

Harry shuffled into the room behind Ron, Millie and the rest of his team, worried that his demeanour around Draco might give his changed feelings away. As soon as Harry had pulled the door closed behind him, his soulmate projected a graphic crime-scene image upon the wall. 

“This is the room at the Green Dragon where Quentin Rosier was found earlier today,” Draco announced at the image, pointing up towards the screen with his wand. “And I have to say, it was unusual to say the very least. Remember what I announced at the crime scene, Robards? That whomever cast the spell will have left their magical signature behind? I wouldn’t have believed it possible but I was wrong. There wasn’t even the _slightest_ trace of magic left. Whenever a wix uses magic, a trace is always left behind. This is very similar to the way that the muggles use fingerprints. We can then match the trace to the wand that cast the magic-”

“Exactly like the Yaxley case,” Harry found himself interrupting. “That was one of the reasons that the case went cold so quickly. Nobody could fathom how the perpetrator had covered their tracks so well. The offending wand was never found.” Draco looked annoyed at being disturbed mid-speech but he didn’t miss a beat. Draco shot Harry as gaze that was as quick as it was heated and then he continued. 

“Auror. Potter has stolen my thunder,” Draco said, switching the image over to another crime-scene. Harry hadn’t yet seen the Yaxley crime-scene photographs, but he knew without being told that this was the abandoned shop where the young wizard’s body had been found. “What the team discovered this morning was _precisely_ like Evan Yaxley's murder.”

Draco swirled his wand and a roll of parchment flew from his desk into each of the waiting hands of the DMLE team. “My Magi-Evidence investigations into the case this morning have led me to believe that our perpetrator for both cases is one and the same. I have examined Rosier’s body at length and come to the conclusion that both men were killed in the exactly same manner. You all have in your hands the results of Quentin Rosier’s autopsy which I had completed as a matter of urgency… My colleague, Mediwizard Nott and I are both of the same opinion: that both men died as a result of the Flagrante Curse-”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ron cut in from across the room, his face a picture of scepticism. “I remember learning about the Flagrante at school. It causes objects to emit searing heat when touched. There wasn’t a mark on either wizard’s body-”

“The Flagrante Curse was weaponised,” Draco replied, switching his images to a picture of both victims juxtaposed beside each other. “Our victims were killed because their magical cortex was burnt away from the _inside_. This is a curse typically used on objects… _Not_ people. It makes perfect sense that the first Medical Examiner missed what spell had been cast.” Draco paused, and took a long mouthful of the water beside him. “Nott and I would have surely have missed it too, had the Rosier case not have been identical.”

Harry watched a red-faced Robards squint at his parchment. 

“Dammit, Malfoy!” Robards exclaimed. “I’ve known from the first moment that I saw Rosier’s body that this was the same bloody killer! For the love of Merlin! How are we going to find the killer if they’ve charmed away their magical traces?”

Draco switched the photographs once more. Now there were images of Yaxley and Rosier alive, smiling and joyous in their Hogwarts graduation gowns. “We’re going to find them, because this killer is arrogant.” Draco levelled his gaze at his boss. “I’ve been fascinated by magical signatures ever since the Yaxley case. I knew that if the killer ever struck again, I wanted to be prepared… And now I am. I’ve been conducting several experiments in the years since the first killing. Magical signatures can influence the biochemical fields of their surroundings in very tiny way, at an almost cellular level. For a very short while after magic has been cast, the physical environment surrounding our victim will have changed. I have discovered a way of measuring these changes _consistently_ -”

“And that means what?” Robards interjected. “Speak the Queen’s bloody English, Malfoy!”

“It means that I can match the Flagrante Curse with the bloody wand that cast it!” Draco replied, triumphantly. “I didn’t have this knowledge after the Yaxley murder. But our arrogant murderer has decided to strike again. And this time, our killer has no idea that I can identify him. All I need it to examine the right wand. That’ll be the way we catch them. Their pride.”

Draco seemed to run out of things to say and Robards stood up, taking over the room. 

“That’s all wonderful to hear, Malfoy, but it doesn’t solve the our most basic of problems the Yaxley and the Rosier killings… We still don’t have witnesses or even much in the way of evidence. The Editor at the _Prophet_ said that Rosier had told him he was meeting a source but that was all he knew. Let’s try and keep the serial element under wraps for as long as we can. I don’t need to remind you, of course, that information about the Flagrante Curse and magical signatures doesn’t leave this room.”

~@~

The next few weeks were hellish for both Harry and the rest of the team. The whole of the DMLE’s efforts were focussed entirely on solving the Quentin Rosier murder. Overtime had been cancelled, while every slim lead was checked and double-checked. 

Harry’s inner-Saviour baulked at the idea of Rosier’s killer still walking the streets but he could do little more than he was already. Harry read every part of the original Yaxley files again and again, until his eyes had stung and his mind has swum with words. He knew all the key players in the case by heart. Evan Yaxley had told his parents that he was meeting a friend for a weekend in Manchester. The young wizard had last been seen alive watching Quidditch on the Saturday. The following Tuesday his body had been found. 

Evan Rosier had been a well-liked Trainee journalist at the _Prophet_. He was clever; he had recently graduated from Hogwarts with a full set of NEWTs in his pocket. He’d been sorted Ravenclaw and many of his fellow students had praised how kind he had been, both as a Prefect and towards younger students. 

There was nothing in Rosier’s past, or Yaxley’s for that matter, that might have signposted their awful deaths. 

Robards did his level best to try to keep the team upbeat but the inevitable sense of dread had set in within the team. Harry could feel it steadily growing. The other Aurors were starting to lose their faith that they’d eventually arrest their man. Draco’s Magi-Evidence work was all well and good, but they had no ideas on how they were actually going to catch their offender. Harry slammed the Yaxley file shut, annoyed with himself. 

The facts of both cases felt like a jigsaw that refused to come together. There had to be some fact that he was lacking; some pertinent piece of information that he needed but for the life of him, Harry couldn’t imagine what his team had missed. Nothing else was going to be achieved sat at his DMLE desk, so Harry decided to floo himself home. Perhaps a different environment might trigger some different thoughts.

Draco and he had never spoken about the night they’d spent together. Every hour since their single night together had been spent focussing on the Rosier case. Still, Harry couldn’t deny the power of their their soul-bond any longer. The last few nights had been a struggle to get to sleep and the familiar gnawing desire had begun to plague Harry’s thoughts once more. 

Draco was suffering too. Whenever Harry saw him around the office, the Magi-Evidence Inspector had looked gaunt and exhausted, with grey smudges beneath his eyes. Harry sighed, _Accio’ing_ his coat. There wasn’t really any chance of his returning to Grimmauld Place that night. Harry knew in his gut that he was returning to Malfoy Manor. He desperately needed to see his soulmate. 

Harry could feel his thoughts clouding and he was struggling to focus on even the most mundane of tasks. 

If he stood any chance of solving this murder, Harry knew he needed to be close to Draco. 

~@~

Fifteen minutes later, Harry found himself stood outside of the Manor entrance once more. Without giving himself time to hesitate, Harry knocked on the door, his heart thumping alongside the sound of his knuckles. 

Draco answered the door. The blond wizard wore a sweat-stained Quidditch jersey and broomstick leathers, while his face was red and shiny with exercise. 

“I’ve just been out on my broom,” Draco said in way of explanation. “It helps me think. Helps me to focus. Always has done. This bloody case… There’s got to be something simple we’re missing.” He motioned for Harry to come inside. “I’m glad you’re here, Harry. it’s time we talked.”

Harry followed Draco through the washed-out opulence of the Manor. A frisson of magic followed their footsteps, and as he passed the portraits he heard their muted whispers. Suspicious eyes followed Harry from moth-eaten family tapestries and he felt the quiver of old protective wards against his skin. Harry wasn’t nervous though: nothing could hurt him here. 

As the soul-bonded mate of the Malfoy heir, there was no magic here that could do him harm. 

After a multitude of twists and turns, Draco cast an _Alohomora_ outside of a grand wooden door. Inside was a suite of room that combined to be larger than the entire Dursley household of Harry’s youth. “My wing of the Manor,” Draco announced in an awkward voice, gesturing around with his hand. “This is where I grew up, Harry. Please take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

“Just a beer,” Harry replied, casting interested eyes over Draco’s belongings. “Thank you.” 

Harry saw a well-known Slytherin green adorn several photographs hanging on the wall and he watched the faces of Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle smiling and waving from inside the frames. Others held pictures of a younger Narcissa and Lucius, holding a blond baby Draco proudly in their arms. For all the passion and obsession of their bond, Harry realised suddenly that there was much he’d have to learn and accept about Draco’s life. There’d be plenty of time to get to know Draco properly once they’d solved the Rosier killing. 

Draco rang a small bell and a House-Elf appeared in a flurry of magic. “Two beers,” Draco asked her. “And some afternoon tea, please. Sandwiches and some cake, too, if you wouldn’t mind.” The Elf acquiesced and vanished with a click of their fingers. 

“I’m just going to shower,” Draco said to Harry. “When Pippi comes back, please help yourself to whatever you want. Make yourself at home, Potter.”

Harry found himself left alone on the settee. There were several Magi-Evidence textbooks left open on the table and he leafed through them without really taking in any facts. Harry’s whole focus was on his soulmate, currently showering in only the very next room. It took every ounce of Harry’s self-control not to go and join him. 

Harry’s mind began to wander. Did Draco enjoy charming the water so that it nearly scalded his skin, in much the same way as he? Did he use fancy shampoos that left a trail of soap suds running down in soft trails over that lithe, luscious body? Pictures entered his head of Draco, arching his back under a powerful spray, coated in a thin film of soap as he slowly began to reach his hands downwards…

_Merlin_. Harry shook his head, trying without success to dispel his fantasies. 

Harry forced his attention back on the textbook, turning it over in his hands. There was a photograph of the author on the back, a Kaleb Andros. Dark hair, cut close to his head. Small, suspicious eyes. His dour, professorial photograph seemed vaguely familiar but Harry just couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard the name before. He flicked through the pages, looking at the incomprehensible words and images until Pippi returned with a sharp crack of magic. 

She placed the food in front of Harry at the very same moment Draco emerged from his shower, wearing a causal kitted sweater and grey corduroy trousers. Draco’s hair was still damp, and he sat down close beside Harry on the settee. 

“ _Introduction to Methods of Magi-Evidence_ ,” said Draco, nodding to the book that Harry still held in his hand. “It’s a bit out of date, but still a good grounding in the subject. Andros was my Professor at University for a couple of terms. He’s done the occasional case alongside the DMLE too, which is why I thought I'd pick his brain. I’m meeting with him tomorrow afternoon… Going to get a second perspective on the crime scene. See if there is anything obvious that I might have missed-”

Harry charmed open one of the beers and reached for a sandwich. “Your Magi-Evidence work is second to none, Draco,” he replied. “But I’ll admit, a fresh set of eyes might do the trick.” Harry paused, swallowing a mouthful of beer before he continued. “I’m getting nowhere fast on the Yaxley angle.”

Harry lazed back on the soft leather of the settee and let the comfort of Draco’s company wash over him. Just like their first night spent together, Harry felt the same warmth roll over his skin and the same tranquillity stilling his soul. His soul-bond basked with Draco’s proximity and when their hand brushed over the empty plate, Harry felt his skin quiver. 

The murder had meant the Draco and he were together almost constantly, but there was almost always Ron, Millie or Robards there too. Now it was only the pair of the them, and Harry’s psyche came alive with the fact. He gazed at Draco’s thin lips as he spoke, fantasising about their taste and how pliant his mouth might be beneath…. Harry shook himself mentally. He needed to stop his imaginings taking over like they always seemed to. 

Draco and he hadn’t promised each other a future. 

All they had shared was one single night. Draco hadn’t brought up their soul-bond since then and Harry wondered briefly if his colleague had any regrets. 

“I’ve never thanked you,” Harry said suddenly. “And I should have.” He brushed a hand over the jagged scar of his forearm. “You were brave that day, Draco. You saved my life.”

Draco looked up, surprised at the sudden swerve that the conversation had taken. “The Werewolf raid?” he asked. “I wasn’t brave. You’d have done the same, Harry. Robards was impetuous. We went into the situation ill-prepared… Went in far too vulnerable. It was just a side-Apparation. I know that you’d have done nothing differently.”

Harry thought back to the chaos and noise of the raid. The searing shock of the _Diffino_ had short circuited his recall and the surrounding events were still horribly misty in his mind. One memory still shone clearly though. “In the hospital, Draco? Can you remember what you said?”

Draco shook head, clearly confused. “I don’t follow you, Potter. In the hospital? I was still in shock. I was frightened-”

“You said ‘ _I’m not going anywhere_.’ Said that ‘ _It’d take more than a few drops of blood to scare me off_ ,’ Harry replied, finding Draco’s hand and holding it with his own. He knotted their fingers together and felt the bliss of their soul-bond ripple over his skin. “Those words? They’ve stayed with me since, Draco. I hear them everyday. I didn’t try to save you, did I? Not when we were children? I cut open your chest with that _Sectumsempra_ and I left you bleeding on a filthy floor… But you, Draco. You never thought twice. You pulled us both away and you saved my life. And then afterwards? All I could do was hate you for it-”

“Because of our soul-bond?” Draco asked, pausing for a moment before he spoke again. “I fought it too, Harry, remember? I was terrified of what it meant for my life, my choices… I felt like the future had been taken away from me.” He squeezed Harry’s fingers back tightly. “But even in the lowest of moments afterwards I never, ever regretted saving you.” Draco took a deep breath. “It wasn’t a payback for saving me from the Fiendfyre and it certainly wasn’t me trying to be a hero. I’d take the soul-bond a million times over if it meant saving you even once-”

“Thank you anyway,” Harry interrupted. “You saved my life. And if it means anything, I’m sorry too. Sorry about the way I reacted afterwards… At St. Mungos and in all the weeks that followed. I should have talked to you. Talked to you instead of shutting you out.”

“Maybe you should have,” Draco said, bringing Harry’s fingers up to his lips. He pressed the lightest of kisses upon them and smiled. “But we’re talking now, Harry. That’s all that matters.”

In spite of Harry’s rather vivid imaginings, the rest of Harry’s evening with Draco was entirely chaste. For weeks, both wizards had spent every hour Merlin sent chasing down a murderer and as the hours slowly progressed, Harry found it difficult to fight the exhaustion that had completely overtaken him. Part of it was the cushioned warmth of their soul-bond wrapping Harry in its fleecy comfort but the truth was that both men had worked far too hard, pouring their every efforts into catching their perpetrator. 

Draco dozed off during the Quidditch match that Harry had found on the wireless. His head lolled, and came to rest of Harry’s shoulder. Draco’s silky hair ticked Harry’s cheek and Harry felt his heart clench at the easy familiarity. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered after the Snitch was caught and the game finally ended. “You’ve been fast off for an hour or so. It’s late.”

Draco blinked, obviously surprised at the position that he found himself. 

“You should have woken me, Harry,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes. “It’s far too late for you to go home, especially not when you’ve slept over before.” Draco sat forward and stretched, giving Harry a sly smile. “Besides, I’m thinking more clearly now than I have in _days_. Feeling happier, too. There’s definite advantages to this soul-mate business. I think you had better stay over… In fact, I insist upon it.”

Harry found himself back in Draco’s private bathroom a few minutes later, charming his teeth clean and trying his hardest to magic his hair tidy. He squinted at his reflection in the mirror before deciding to give up for a bad job. If Draco wanted him, he was going to have to accept his soulmate for exactly who he was. 

Upon entering Draco’s grey-green room Harry was startled to find his lover already enveloped in his thick duvet, eyes fluttering slowly closed. 

Draco was exhausted, Harry realised. The whole team had been working around the clock to solve the Rosier killing, but Draco was the DMLE’s only Magi-Evidence specialist and he’d been running himself ragged every hour of the day, casting spells and running test after test. There were smudges beneath both eyes and his breath was shallow and uneven. Harry stripped down to his boxer shorts and slid carefully into the bed beside him. 

This wasn’t the night of passion that Harry has secret hoped for but, as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s torso, and the skin of his chest pressed against Draco’s back, he thought that perhaps this new, easy intimacy might be even better. 

Harry hadn’t ever been a wizard to crave long nights of cuddles with boyfriends. He’d always loved the passion of lovemaking but hadn’t ever craved what came afterwards. The idea of waking up entwined in his lover’s limbs had always left him a little cold. Yet, with Draco, that reticence was absent. For a few minutes, Harry wondered whether it was just the soul-bond finding this new closeness attractive. That was certainly possible, but there had to be more to it. 

Harry thought long and hard, but couldn’t remember a single instance where he’d shared a bed without having sex first and that fact surprised him. It felt oddly pleasant just to lie there, listen to Draco’s breathing steadily become more regular and luxuriate in the body heat that radiated off his soulmates skin. Harry lay silently, feeling the soft vibration of Draco’s heartbeat roll thought both of their bodies. 

In twenty-four years of life, Harry couldn’t remember a moment in his life when he’d felt this contented. He drifted into a dreamless sleep, soothed by the knowledge that this was exactly where he needed to be. 

~@~

Harry awoke the following morning to a disappointingly empty bed. 

He yawned and stretched before quirking open an eye to look at his surroundings. Draco had drawn the curtains wide open and his bedroom was bright. Pink morning light filtered through the glass, casting patterns over the grey-green walls. Harry let out a soft grunt and rolled himself up into a sitting position, his back coming to rest against the headboard. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the scent of fresh coffee filled his nostrils. 

The door creaked open to reveal Draco, dressed in a silky dressing gown. Levitating before him was a tray, laden with a toast, butter, bacon and coffee. It all smelt divine and it was only then that Harry realised quite how ravenous he was. The two men had only shared sandwiches the night before and Harry eyed the tray with interest as Draco settled it onto the bed between them. 

“Didn’t think you’d _ever_ wake,” Draco said, buttering two slices of toast and handing one to Harry. “You’ve missed half the day, Potter. Thought you’d sleep forever.”

“I seem to remember that you were quick to fall sleep last night,” Harry smiled, taking a bite of the toast. “Still, it’s worth sleeping for half the day if I get woken like this. Breakfast in bed? I could get used to this-”

Draco took a swallow of his coffee and gave a small smile. 

“Don’t get used to it, Potter. All I did was bring it up into the bedroom. This was all Pippi’s doing. She insisted that ‘ _we give our guest something delicious_.’ I think she’s just pleased to see me looking happier. There’s been a few rough times since St. Mungos, but I do feel like things are getting better. Slowly but surely, anyway… Well. Having you close to me feels decidedly positive, Harry. I’m in better spirits than I have been in weeks.”

Harry felt his cheeks colour at Draco’s words. Every word was true: being close to Draco was the balm that his soul needed. 

“Are any of your friends soul-bonded?” Harry asked, reaching for a bacon roll. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with his best-friend in the canteen so many weeks before. “Ron and Hermione are soulmates. Ron was worried about me… About _us_. Thought that we’d be denying ourselves a future if we didn’t succumb. It’s curious, because I always through ‘Mione and he were perfect for each other. The perfect counterbalance to each other’s personalities. But Ron said that they’ve had to work hard at their relationship.”

“Pansy and Theo,” Draco replied. “They’re soulmates. Opposites in every way. Merlin, but they’ve had some blazing rows. They love each other immensely but they’ve had to make a lot of compromises. Where they live. The jobs they do. I know that Pans has an opportunity to design for a wizarding fashion house over in New York. Theo stayed here, said he wanted to concentrate on his career. Of course, he was flooing out to her in less than a week. Just couldn’t exist without her.”

“What about us, though?” Harry asked, awkwardly. He didn’t want to bring up the Hippogriff in the room, but if he and Draco were to ever move forward then it had to be addressed. “There’s a lot of magical folk out there that would call us _opposites_ too. Do you really think we’ve got it in us to actually have a relationship? Our past is littered with anger, Draco. With so much distrust. Part of the reason that I couldn’t accept- couldn’t _believe_ \- the bond at St. Mungos was our awful bloody history.”

Draco shrugged. He placed down his coffee cup and took Harry’s hand in his own. 

“That much I don’t know, Harry. I’m a bad tempered, contentious arsehole most of the time. You’re a workaholic with a blasted Saviour complex. Truthfully? Part of me thinks we deserve each other. I feel like our childhoods ruined us for other people. We were forced into a War by adults that should have known better and who used us for their own advantage. Maybe that’s why out souls bonded to each others? We are _opposites_ , Potter. Opposites in every way. I’m the darkness to your light. That, perhaps, is why I find I can’t exist without you.”

Harry swallowed, unsure of what to say. Draco wanted a future with him. He wanted their soul-bond to flourish. 

Harry knew himself to be imbued with impulsive Gryffindor bravery but there wasn’t a chance on Merlin’s sweet Earth that he would have had enough courage to say those words aloud. Perhaps Draco was getting ahead of himself, but then it had been he that had turned up on Draco’s doorstep, both last night and a few weeks previously. Harry had known he wasn’t able to stand a further moment without Draco’s presence… Harry put down his mug down. He was about to reply to Draco's confession but there was a sudden frantic knocking on the door. Draco stood up quickly, dropping Harry’s fingers. 

“That bloody Elf,” Draco said. “Pippi is far too thrilled by your presence, Potter. No doubt she wants to give us some extra coffee or something.” Draco strode over to the door, opening it widely. “I asked not to be disturbed this morning,” Draco said kindly to the bowing Elf behind the door. “I told you that Mr. Potter and I need to sort out a few things-”

Pippi shook her head wildly. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, sirs!” she gasped out. She’d cut in before her master has finished speaking, which Harry knew was very unusual. Elves were usually very respectful of their employers. “You is _both_ needing to go to work right away! Mr. Robards just called! Says that you must be along _quickly!_ Says that the murderer has been in contact with the _Prophet!_ ”

Harry felt his heart sink. Everything that he’d wanted to say to Draco dried in like ashes in his mouth. 

~@~

Less than an hour later, Harry was sat in the DMLE conference room. The tension in the room was palpable: it seemed that, finally, their killer was getting impatient. Harry had seen it before in other cases. This was the break that the team had been waiting for. If he were willing to expose himself, to make such an obvious ploy for attention, then their perpetrator was going to make a mistake. The rough edges of the case were starting to fray. 

It was just like Draco has said that very day: pride was this murderer’s Achilles heel. Draco was sat on the side of the table, the very picture of a demure, serious professional. Neither wizard had spoken again after their Elf had arrived to collect them. Discussing their burgeoning relationship had paled into insignificance once each had heard that there had been a breakthrough in the case. 

“Good morning team,” Robards began. At the sound of his voice, the DMLE fell silent and turned their attentions onto their boss. “Sorry to have to bring you all in on a Saturday… You’ve all been working damnably hard to break the Rosier case but it’s no secret to say that we’ve been hampered by a lack of evidence… Now, I’m hopeful that today might change that. This gentleman beside me is Barnabas Cruffe, editor of the _Daily Prophet."_

Cruffe nodded. “A pleasure to make all of your acquiescences. Now Auror. Robards, if you would? Please continue."

Robards’s face flushed as the newspaperman’s rudeness. “At precisely eight thirty-seven this morning, the _Prophet’s_ mail-room was owled. Seems our killer is dismayed with the lack of attention that his case is receiving so he has decided to make contact. Believes that the public should be notified that Rosier wasn’t his first murder-” Robards paused, and with a swirl of his wand, sent a _Geminio’d_ parchment into each investigators hand. “Everybody take a minute to read his words… Then we’ll discuss our next steps.”

Harry cleaned the smudges from his glasses and set to reading. 

_**“URGENT.**_  
_**To: Mr. Cruffe, Editor.**_

_**I have to say, I thought that the Prophet would be far faster on the uptake that you’ve been. Each morning I eagerly await your once-fine publication and yet each day I’m disappointed.** _

_**You claim to be the voice of wizarding England and yet you’ve never spared more than a few lines to praise my fine work. Such a tragedy. Indeed, I chose Quentin Rosier -one of your own!- specifically.** _

_**I plucked that Pure-blooded monster out of your grasp and I burned away all of his magical core. Ah yes. How quaint. You’re surprised, I expect. I expect that the Aurors haven’t been keeping you informed about just how I destroyed them both, or about the clever piece of magic that I used. Yes, I’ll admit it. Rosier wasn’t the first of those fiends that I’ve exterminated.**_

_**My first foray into the eradication of Pure-bloods was Evan Yaxley. As the magic drained from his soul, I felt the world to be cleansed. It was then that I realised my true purpose.** _

_**My hatred of these vile beasts knows no bounds.**_

_**Their acquiescence allowed the rise of Voldemort. Allowed the death of multitudes of our number. Yet so many of their members escaped unscathed and unpunished. It is an aberration that even one member of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight still continue to live and breathe. My great art is their destruction. I will take their eldest sons and I will pull them from the Earth!** _

_**Tell all the wizards and witches of England, Mr. Cruffe! Tell them of my mission and let them all rejoice!”** _

The only sound in the room was the quiet rustle of parchment. 

As Harry finished scanning the letter he felt sick to his stomach. It had to have come directly from the killer: the team hadn’t revealed the information about the cause of death to anybody outside of their investigation. The visceral hated of the words was rank and appalling. Two young men, entirely innocent of the crimes of their forefathers had been murdered to satisfy a killer’s sick vision. 

Barnabus Cuffe cleared his throat. Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He'd not trusted a single journalist since he was a teenager, and he doubted that this sly-looking little man was going to make him change his mind. 

“Make no mistake, the _Daily Prophet_ supports the DMLE,” Cruffe began, speaking slowly. “We brought this letter to yourselves immediately, no questions asked. But the fact remains: we appear have a serial killer loose in wizarding England! The DMLE haven’t given the Sacred Twenty-Eight families any indication of the existence of a serial killer and nor have they offered them protection. You have the great Harry Potter, war hero, on your team… Yet it would seem that you've been keeping secrets. In twenty-four hours, we're going to publish this letter _word for word_ ". Cuffe stood, and made for the door. Before he left, he turned around to face the meeting table. "Our world can make up its own mind on your capabilities- or your lack of them- then.”

As soon as the door was shut, Robards sprung into action. 

“You just heard Cuffe. Our killer has just upped the ante. This letter is everything I feared, people! In exactly twenty-four hours, every wizard with a grudge or a rivalry will be fire-calling the office. We’ll be awash with leads that’ll lead us nowhere and then the killer will vanish into legend. We all know that there’s a lot of Sacred Twenty-Eight hatred still out on the streets… Publishing this letter will trigger violence that will only swing in the killer’s favour. We’ve got a single day to get this solved and to get this right! What do we actually know about this man?”

“Excellent with defensive magic,” Draco shot in. “Weaponised that Flagrante Curse to lethal effect. Bloody arrogant though. Wants to show off about it-”

“And that’s why he’s written to the paper!” Ron added. “He’s egotistical. Wants the world to know about his so-called mission. Doesn't think that he’s done anything wrong-”

“That’s because he’s a psychopath!” Millie bit back, furious. “He’s a fundamentalist, Weasley! All that talk about the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He’s on a mission to kill families like mine!”

Harry let his colleague’s discussion roll over him. Their voices faded away into nothingness as he re-read the words on the paper before him. “ _Their acquiescence allowed the rise of Voldemort. Allowed the death of multitudes of our number. Yet so many of their members escaped unscathed and unpunished_.”

Before he knew it, Harry was talking over his associates. “I think he’s us left a clue,” Harry said, stabbing blindly at the parchment with his finger. “ _Multitudes of our number_.” I think this mission is personal to him. I don’t think he’s just talking about wizarding folk generally here. My gut’s telling me that that he lost people in the War. Lost people he loved. All of us know that rage and that grief. If he’s allowed it to fester… Then _that’s_ what is driving his pathological hatred. He doesn’t think that the punishments meted out went far enough. I’m willing to bet my wand on it.”

Robards gave the team a forced smile. Harry could see the age of the man in the lines of his face, and grey stubble peppering his face. Robards looked as fatigued as any of the rest of them.

“You’ve been right before Potter. I’ve read and re-read this letter more times that I care to and all I can see is evidence of a disordered, broken mind. This is the only possible lead we’ve got. Okay. So we’ve nothing else to go on. Follow Auror Potter’s lead. Pull out the details of any families that suffered multiple losses during the War. I want you all checking names, checking dates… Anything that might possibly tie to our murders. We’ve got a single day, team. So lets make good use of it.”

~@~

Three hours passed by in the blink of an eye. 

The Auror team had made the decision to pull files on every family that had lost more than one member during the Second Wizarding War. It made for dismal reading. _Prewitt. Bones. Lupin. Adams. Fawley_. So many familiar names and stories, each of them more heartbreaking than the last but none that helped them in their quest to find the killer. Harry sighed, a sense of despondency filling his chest. At this rate, _the Prophet_ would be publishing their story before the day was out 

Harry spied Millie walking up to his desk and he gave her a half-hearted smile. 

“Time for a break,” she said, handing him a slice of cake and a butterbeer. “I brought some lunch in for the team. I don’t believe that anyone can think properly with an empty stomach… I tried to take a piece in to Draco but his desk was empty? Have you seen him since this morning, Harry?” 

Harry shook his head, taking a bite from his cake before he answered. 

“He’d gone back to the Rosier crime scene,” Harry replied after a moment’s thought. “He’s taken one of his old Professors. Draco is just as out of ideas as the rest of of the team. He thought that a fresh pair of eyes might give him a new perspective.”

“That’s good to know,” Millicent said, pulling up a chair. She sat down beside Harry and started to leaf through the Harry’s discarded files. “’Cause there was a line in the killer’s letter that terrified me, Harry. That one at the end, about ‘ _taking their eldest sons?_ ’ It reminded me of Draco… I mean, he’s Pure-blooded, isn’t he? And a member of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family as well as the only heir to a prominent Death Eater.”

Millie lapsed into silence, and Harry felt his brow furrow. A ripple of anxiety rolled slowly through his body. Why hadn’t he considered Draco’s personal safety when he’d read the letter? Draco could certainly look after himself in a duel, Harry reckoned and his defensive magic was excellent too. That wasn’t an issue. Even so, Draco was a prime target for this psychopath, who fitted the stated victim profile perfectly. Until the killer was caught, Draco would need to take extra precautions. 

Harry stood and went to get himself a coffee. “My mornings been a complete bloody bust,” he replied, dropping back into his seat. “None of these names check out. I’m starting to think that my intuition was off. Our killer could be anyone-”

“I only found the one odd thing,” Millie cut in. She took a swallow of her butterbeer. “One of my files was about a family called _Blake_. They suffered some dreadful losses in the War. Death Eaters attacked the parents for alleged non-cooperation with their regime. The Blake's refused to even consider changing sides and wouldn’t back down, even under intense torture… The mother and father? They didn’t survive, Harry. Killed with an _Avada Kedavra_. They were found in their home, still clinging to each other. But their son, one Sandro Blake? Nobody knows, Harry. He was presumed dead but despite every effort his body hasn’t ever been found.”

Harry felt a horrible shock of adrenaline at the name. _Sandro Blake_. Why was that name so familiar? He felt his fingers tingle and an abrupt tightening in the muscles of his arms and legs. Something was very wrong. _Sandro Blake_. An image was there, on the edge of Harry’s mind. He focussed his consciousness, but the picture remained stubborn, misty and hidden. _Sandro Blake_ … 

“Is there a photograph of their son? Of Sandro Blake?” Harry demanded, feeling a sudden sharpe pain lash against his chest. “Anything that I can look at? 

Millicent looked up. “I can’t remember. Let me have a look.” She walked back to her desk, turning the pages of the Blake file with torturous slowness. “Merlin! There’s nothing here! Hold on. Let me Accio the evidence file for Alecto Carrow… She was the one convicted of those killings.”

Moments later, Harry was tearing through the Carrow evidence file. Sure enough, a faded image of the Blake family soon fell into his hands. Their eldest son stood nearest the camera. Harry got an impression of dark hair, cut close to the head and small, suspicious eyes. “And that’s him?” Harry asked after he’d urgently scanned the photo. “Are you sure, Mils? Really sure?”

“Yes,” Millicent answered. “ _Sandro Blake_ ,” she read aloud from the back of the picture. “ _Missing from Westminster Mews family home since 1997. Presumed dead_.”

Harry stared at the photo, that same lacerating pain running over his skin. His blood was icy cold in his veins when he finally managed to speak. 

“Blake isn’t dead, Mils. He’s very much alive. Sandro Blake is Kaleb Andros. It’s a bloody anagram! Carrow didn’t kill him. Fuck! That’s why Draco isn’t at his desk. Draco went to meet a _Kaleb Andros_ this afternoon. Went to meet this _Sandro Blake_. It was a bloody ruse, Millie! Draco has arranged to meet the bloody killer!”

~@~

Draco was missing, presumed abducted. 

Harry had sent three urgent Patronuses to his soulmate but each one had been ignored. Draco hadn’t retuned to Malfoy Manor either. An urgent location spell hadn’t found him within the Ministry. Robards was even ready to send out a dubiously-legal tracking owl, but Harry didn’t believe for a second that it would make much of a difference. This was a killer that had evaded their clutches twice before and Draco was his greatest prize of all. 

Ron had gone to get a Wizengamot warrant to search the home of Kaleb Andros while Millie was busy visiting everybody at his University department. Every bit of information that each fed back into the office only served to make Harry feel even more desolate. Their wanted wizard was a loner. There were no friends to speak of and, of course, his family were dead. All the man seemed to value were his Magi-Evidence research and the occasional bit of DMLE crime-scene support. 

There were no leads yet and Harry knew that none would be forthcoming. Their man was too devious and his hatred ran too deeply. With a sickening twist in his belly, Harry had soon realised why the name Kaleb Andros had felt so familiar the night before. 

Andros had been one of the Magi-Evidence Inspectors brought in to assist with the Yaxley case. It was little wonder that the killer had been able to cover his tracks so well: he had been the one examining the evidence. The name and photograph of a _K. Andros_ had been buried deep within a pile of reports, but that did nothing to assuage Harry’s guilt. Every few minutes the same rough pain rolled over Harry’s chest. His soul-bond ached with need. Draco needed him and Draco was in pain. 

It had been over an hour now since Harry had seen the photograph and he felt like he was slowly crawling out of his skin. Harry had to get to Draco. He had to find his soulmate. 

“I’ve got to go,” Harry announced to his Robards, gathering up his wand and making for the door. “I’m sorry I… I have to do this. I’m going back to the Rosier crime-scene. It’s Draco’s last known location. I can’t sit here, just waiting. I have to be out there doing _something_ at the very least.”

“Potter, are you sure?” Robards asked. “That was the first place we looked when we realised that Malfoy had been taken. There’s nothing left there, not even any trace magic! Ron and Millie are out of the office. Can’t you wait? You’ve got no backup. If anything should happen-”

“If anything should happen, then I’ll send a Patronus,” Harry answered, his voice raw with anguish. “But I’ve got to do this, Sir. Draco is my soulmate and I know he’s in pain. He’s still alive… I can feel it like the burn of hexes on my skin.” Harry dived out of the door, Disapparating away as soon as he soon as he was out from under Robard’s worried gaze. 

As soon as he arrived, Harry raced past the Aurors guarding the entrance to the Green Dragon. His hands clenched his wand as he ran up the shadowy spiral staircase and down the corridor into the bedroom. Nothing had changed in the filthy bedroom since the day of Rosier’s killing. The paint was still torn from the walls in great strips and the carpet was rank with stains. Even the walls felt riddled with grief.

Harry’s head felt heavy with terror and fury. 

Draco was his soulmate; their souls were intertwined and that couldn’t ever be changed. Harry emotions raged. He’d only just learnt to accept their soul-bond; just began to realise that Draco was his future and the fulfilment of everything that he needed. His life had been a litany of theft: his parents, his childhood and his youthful innocence. 

Now the fates had conspired to steal Draco from him too. 

Harry closed his eyes and sank to the floor. He pressed his hand over the _Diffindo_ scar and breathed out, letting his soul-bond fill his consciousness. As if in answer, hex pain seared his chest and belly, making him gasp aloud. Draco was talking to him. Communicating his pain. 

And then, Harry just _knew_.

In seconds, Harry was on his feet, casting _Expecto Patronum_ as he did so. “Send to Robards,” he shouted. “Tell the rest of the team to drop whatever they’re doing. I need backup. Westminster Mews, North London. That’s where he’s taken Draco. The Blake’s family home. I- I don’t know how I know… I just do.”

~@~

Westminster Mews was a dark, tatty building. 

Metal boards covered the windows and the path was littered with broken paving slabs. Harry gripped his wand tightly as he approached the doorway and made his way up the cracked front steps. The structure was silent but Harry had no doubt that his soulmate was inside. He could feel the shiver of Draco’s nearness against his flesh and the dull ache of his beloveds _Sectumsempra_ scar. 

Harry pulled the door open and carefully stepped inside. 

The inside of the house was pitch-black and Harry squinted, keeping his back pressed against the wall, trying desperately to get his bearings. Blake could be hidden anywhere. Pieces of broken furniture were scatted all over the floor and Harry moved as cautiously as he could, hoping not to alert Blake to his presence. 

It was to no avail. 

“Lead Auror Potter!” hissed out a voice from the next room. “I’ve been hoping to make the acquaintance of the Chosen One himself. Mr. Malfoy and I have been expecting you… You soul-bond must be very strong to have got here so quickly. Don’t make any sudden moves though. I highly doubt Mr. Malfoy here would enjoy having his magical core burnt away-”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. The scene before him made his blood run cold. Draco had been stuck onto a chair with some sort of _Epoximising_ Charm and Sandro Blake had his wand shoved up hard against his scalp. 

A million scenarios ran through Harry’s head but he dismissed each as quickly as it arrived. 

He considered casting an _Expelliarmus_ wandless but there was always that two second lag. Harry knew he couldn’t risk it: Blake was holding Draco hostage at point-blank range. Any spell that the criminal cast from that distance could easily be fatal. 

Harry knew that Robards would have dispatched backup by now. It had to be a matter of only minutes. 

All Harry could do was bide his time. His heart hammered in his chest and his body raced with adrenaline but he forced himself to take a step backwards. He held up his empty hand in a gesture of surrender. 

“Let him go,” Harry urged. His voice wasn’t as authoritative as he’d have liked but he carried on regardless. “You don’t have to do this any more. What happened to your parents was an atrocity, Blake but you can be better than the Carrows. These men- Yaxley, Rosier- they didn’t choose their parent’s path. Let Draco go,” Harry repeated, panic creeping into his tone. “He was as much a victim of circumstance in the War as you or I… None of us can be responsible for the actions of our parents. _Please_. Let him go.”

Blake gave a quiet laugh. 

“You must think me a fool, Auror Potter. You’ve been _turned_ by these monsters. Made to believe their venom and their lies. You, our greatest champion, have been corrupted! I’ve been watching you in the newspapers and I’ve seen your blind acceptance of these Pure-blood creatures. Seen how you fawn over them. Our world is ripe for vengeance: my actions will be the clarion call that unites the whole of the wizarding world!”

Harry shuffled a little to the side, but he couldn’t get into a good position to cast a disabling spell. Time seemed to have slowed to a stop. 

“You’re wrong,” Harry gritted out. “Violence, vengeance and murder? That’s the way of Voldemort. The way of Grindelwald. Nobody is ever going to view you as anything other than a pathetic, murdering psychopath. Give it up, Blake. This is over. We know about your cover story and how you worked over the Yaxley crime-scene. Robards has had searched your home searched. Your office. You’re done.”

“Oh, I think _not_ ,” Blake replied, a self-satisfied smirk creeping over his features. “In a few minutes, both Mr. Malfoy and yourself will both be dead and I’ll be on my way once more. Your deaths will be my greatest work: the Death-Eater and his treasonable soulmate. Watching a soulmate die before your very eyes? You’ll be lucky if you don’t simply die of shock Potter. It’s been known to happen, many times. Even if you don’t, a little Flagrante Curse will soon end your meddling ways.”

Harry felt his blood boil. He hated that this man knew of this intimacy belonging only to Draco and himself. No doubt Draco had told him to try and form a bond or to try and buy time. “None of that matters.” Harry hissed, feeling his fingers stiffen around his wand. “Robards will have this place surrounded and warded to the hilt by now. No Apparition out. You won’t be going anywhere. Whatever happens, you’re going to Azkaban, Blake. Surrounded everyday by those Death Eaters you so loathe-”

“Blake,” Draco cut in, his voice broken, cracked and injured. “Before you kill me. Please. One thing-”

“What thing?” Blake hesitated, his wand pushed hard and taut against Draco’s head. “Are you going to beg and cry? Offer me a million Galleons from your Vault?” he said contemptuously. “Or are you just going to tell this traitor here how much you adore him?”

“I do love Harry,” Draco said a small tear running down one cheek. His eyes met with Harry’s, grey on green and they never once wavered. “And I always have done. I didn’t need a soul-bond to love him because already did… No. I wanted to talk to _you_ , Blake. About Azkaban. I-I go there every month, Blake. I go to visit my Father… And I’ve seen Alecto Carrow in the visiting hall. Don’t kill us, Blake. Surrender. Go to Azkaban and there you’ll find the revenge you really want. _The Carrows_. If you kill us, you’ll be a marked man. My Father _will_ kill you. You’ll not last a single night-”

Draco’s grey eyes never faltered, remaining locked on Harry’s during every word. Harry knew Draco well enough to realise that the tricky Slytherin had a made some sort of plan but he couldn't be sure yet what it was. 

“If you let us go,” Draco murmured quietly, “then I know that Father will let you have them. The Carrows. He’ll tell you how to find them. How to kill them-”

Harry knew it then. He could feel Draco communicating with him as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. Harry knew exactly what Draco was about to do. 

“More Pure-blood lies,” Blake rasped, leaning in closely to Draco’s words. “You think I’m fool enough to believe your foul promises?”

But Blake was fool enough, Harry realised. Like Draco had known all those weeks before, Blake was arrogant and prideful. For a single second, Blake had believed every one of Draco’s words. 

The wand at Draco’s head wavered, ever so slightly and that was all the time that Draco had needed. 

In the very same second, Draco had thrown the chair and himself sideways, knocking into Blake and making his wand skitter away from his hand and across the floor. Harry cast an _Accio_ , deftly grabbing the criminal’s wand as it hurtled across the room and into his hand. A second twirl of Harry’s wand had him casting _Petrificus Totalus_ , immobilising the murderer that had goaded and threatened them both. 

Harry lunged across the room, throwing the man to the floor. Finally, he spelled Blake securely to the floor, giving him a kick for good measure. 

Outside Harry could hear the well-known shouts and sounds of the Aurors finally arriving but right now there wasn’t any other priority except Draco’s well-being. “Is everything okay?” Harry managed. “Did he hurt you? Before I got here? I came here as as soon as I realised-” 

“I’m okay,” Draco called from the floor. “A few hexes. I’ve had worse.” He was still stuck to chair, his body lain at an awkward angle. Harry gave Blake a quick once over, ensuring that the murderer couldn’t move before he stood and hurried over to Draco. 

Harry broke the fastening spells as quickly as he could, and helped his soulmate to his feet. Draco stumbled a little as he stood, swaying with the quick change in altitude. Draco’s clothes were crumpled and filthy but despite Harry’s worried once-over, there weren't any blood stains visible. 

“I knew you’d come, Harry,” Draco said, shocked tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I was terrified, but I just _knew_. Knew if I could just keep him talking then you’d come… And I’m sorry. I told him about the soul-bond. I just thought it’d humanise me. Make me seem like less of a monster… I think it did the opposite-”

Harry pulled Draco to him, feeling the shake of both their bodies as shock overtook them both. 

“ _Shush_ ,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Draco’s shoulders. “None of this. You did what you had to do, Draco. You kept him talking and you kept yourself alive. I knew, too. I went to the crime-scene and I could feel our bond. It told me how to find you. I… I thought I’d lost you, just when I’d finally found you.”

They kissed then, a million words left unsaid. Harry kissed Draco, telling his soulmate of his love and care with every movement of his lips. They kissed and they kissed, as if their souls depended on it. Harry wondered if perhaps they did. 

“I never want to lose you again,” Draco replied as the backup team finally crashed into the room, their wands raised. “You’ve saved my life once again, Harry. We seem to be making quite the habit of it.” 

The two wizards clung together then, their hearts beating as one. Their soul-bond, once so unwanted and derided by both, felt suddenly like the treasure it truly was.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry get their very happy ending.

Their kiss wasn’t the end of the story, though. There was an official arrest to be made, statements to collected and memories that needed to be recorded and collected for the eventual Wizengamot trial. 

Once Sandro Blake was brought into interview, Harry found him more that willing to share every sordid detail of his ‘great mission.’ He was boastful, egotistical and utterly without remorse. Blake told of how he had gone undercover at the end of the War, unwilling to build trust in a new, egalitarian wizarding society. Instead, Blake had let his hatred fester, killing Evan Yaxley on a whim. He’d found that killing Rosier hadn’t brought the same satisfaction, so he had sent the letter to the _Daily Prophet_ , hoping to trigger hatred and chaos. 

In the end, his letter had been his ultimate undoing. 

Just like Draco had predicted so many weeks before, their killer had been brought down by his own arrogance and pride. Draco used his Magi-Evidential methods to match Blake’s wand with the fatal Flagrante Curse that he had cast twice and this provided irrefutable, final proof of his guilt. The _Daily Prophet_ had readily agreed to run Draco’s kidnapping and rescue as an exclusive; ecstatic that they could feature their Saviour Harry Potter on the cover once more, their earlier threats were both quickly and conveniently forgotten. 

Draco was tidying away his kit when Harry appeared at his side 

“Let’s get out of here.” Harry said. “It’s time for us to go home, Draco. If that’s what you want.”

“I do want,” Draco replied quietly. “Very, very much Take me back home with you, Harry. After all these adventures I think it’s high time that we- finally- make love.”

~@~

Harry took hold of Draco’s hand and guided him to the Floo. 

Once they arrived in Grimmauld Place, Harry let Draco up to his bedroom and gently stripped off both of their clothes. It was only then that Harry saw the trail of purple-blue bruises that patterned Draco’s chest. 

Harry’s mind flicked back to the searing lacerations that he’d experienced earlier in the day. Draco had been hexed. He’d been tortured. Draco had been made to suffer before Harry had arrived. Harry had been so out of his mind with relief that Draco was had survived, it hadn’t truly sunk in that Draco had been abducted by a serial killer; his name could have been added to the list of the dead alongside Yaxley and Rosier. 

“Blake hurt you,” Harry rumbled, his voice low. “He marked you. I… I’m sorry. I-”

“It’s alright,” Draco replied. “I survived.” He raised Harry’s forearm to his lips and kissed the _Diffindo_ scar. “And you survived too. Hopefully the rest of out lives might be a little less exciting.”

Harry laughed at that, leaning in to kiss Draco protectively. “I very much doubt it,” he replied. 

Together they made their way to the bed. Draco lay down on the quilt and Harry climbed over him, straddling his thighs. Draco’s hands roamed everywhere, stroking Harry’s arms and caressing his sides. It tickled and Harry leaned forward, kissing the softness of Draco’s blond hair and working his way slowly downwards, over jaw and throat. 

Draco tipped his head back, making small seductive noises at Harry’s every attention. “That feels exquisite,” he moaned. “Every one of your touches feel immense.”

“How do you want to do this?” Harry asked against Draco’s skin. He moved his lips down to brush light kisses over his soulmates smooth clavicle. “Do you want to-”

“I want you to fuck me,” Draco cut in, voice tight with want. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.” 

Draco reached down then, seizing hold of Harry’s prick. Harry felt his body react, filling and hardening under Draco’s urgent touch. He arched his body, thrusting his cock impatiently into Draco’s hot hands while he used his other palms to grip at Draco shoulders. He pulled Draco’s lips to him, pressing heated kisses onto the other wizard’s elegant mouth.

“I’ll need lube,” Harry eventually managed, forcing himself to sit up and break their kiss. “If you’d like things to move along?”

“If you would,” Draco replied. “Open me up for your cock, Harry. Open me wide and ready.”

Harry didn’t need telling twice. He was up on his feet quickly and diving into the bathroom. When he returned, jar in hand, Draco was sprawled on his back, looking wanton, beautiful and sexy. Harry felt a ripple of desire roll through him. He fumbled off the lid of the lube and scooped out a handful. 

“Lay back,” Harry said. “I want every part of tonight to feel good for you.” He brought his hands down to Draco’s arsehole. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Draco murmured, as Harry rubbed gently, spreading the wetness around. “That feels so good. Don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” Harry whispered as he slid in the tip of finger. The fiery heat of Draco’s body felt so wonderful around his hand; tight, smooth and so wonderfully pliable. He scissored his fingers inside and out. “So good,” Harry admired. “I could get used to seeing you fuck yourself on my fingers.” he added a second finger. “I’ve never seen a more gorgeous sight-”

“Hurry up,” Draco moaned, as Harry found his sweet spot over and over. “I’ll come right now if you keep talking like that. _Mmmm_. I’m ready, Harry. Ready for your cock.” 

Harry added a third, giving Draco just a further moment to acclimatise and stretch before he was pulling out his hand. “Ready?” Harry asked, leaning down to press a new row of kisses against Draco’s jaw. He lined up his prick with Draco’s slick, fluttering arsehole. 

“ _Merlin_ , please,” Draco agreed as Harry slowly pushed inside. 

His soulmates face was a sight to behold as he pushed his cock carefully into Draco’s body. Harry watched as Draco’s eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed at the intensity of the act. This was Harry’s favourite part of sex: the gift of another person letting him inside. There could be no greater trust that the intimacy of lovemaking. This was his first time with his soulmate and Harry knew without a single doubt that he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life. 

“You’re so tight,” Harry stuttered out as he trust his prick ever deeper. “You’ve been waiting for me. Waiting for us.” Harry felt Draco’s body start to relax around him, accommodating ever inch of his body. His hips nudged up against Draco’s arse as he bottomed out, fully seated inside of his soulmate and only then did Harry feel their soul-bond blossom into its true, fully fledged form. 

Harry felt the weight of the soul-bond pressed against his skin, a titillating, sensual presence that seemed to seep into Harry’s flesh and coil through his bloodstream. Tendrils of the soul-bond pulsated and throbbed, rooting into his heart and twisting around his bones. 

It felt exhilarating and fiercely erotic: every thrust connected the two wizards on a deeper plane of existence. 

Harry felt like he could see inside of Draco’s very soul. Harry knew then that the two men were connected, but not only through their bodies. Their minds, their feelings and their very magic had knotted; tying them together in a deeper bond than any marriage. Harry leaned over, kissing Draco before he drew back slowly. 

Then he was pushing in again, over and over until he was pounding into his lover. 

Their eyes were locked onto one another and Harry felt a deep, unabating love spiral through him as the tension began to build between them. Each thrust drew quiet whimpers and throaty moans from Draco’s throat. His lover wrapped his legs around Harry, drawing him in ever deeper while the magic in the room pulsed and vibrated, the soul-bond a tangle presence between them both. Draco shuddered then, his whole body tensing. He came in creamy jets over both their stomachs. Draco's arse tightened, his whole body stiffening and his fingers dug so hard into Harry that he knew there’d be bruises later. 

That was when Harry came apart. The whole world seemed to rumble and quake beneath them both and then he was orgasming, shooting thick spurts of messy cum into Draco. Harry was sure that if he hadn’t been holding each other so tightly, they’d both have shattered into a million tiny pieces. The whole of his universe had shifted. 

They lay together in the afterglow for a few minutes, satisfied and euphoric. Harry performed a few Cleaning Charms on the pair of them and together they slipped under the quilt. 

Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself. Tomorrow they’d behave paperwork to complete, colleagues and friends to tell and a dozen cases that needed his attention. He’d be back to being the Deputy Lead Auror with a hundred responsibilities and no time for any of them. 

Tonight, though, Harry could bask in the warmth of his soulmates embrace. His bed was soft and Draco felt wondrous in his arms. The whole of his life had changed in the last few months and suddenly his future looked very different: there would have to be much more compromise, no doubt but they’d also be a lot more love. Harry found that he rather quite liked the idea of spending the rest of his existence with Draco within his grasp. 

Half-asleep already, Harry moved over to wrap his arms around Draco’s chest. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Harry whispered, resting his head against his soulmates chest and listening to the thrum of his heart. “If something had have happened to you, Draco? I couldn’t have borne it-”

Draco’s arms tightened, resting on Harry’s back. 

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Draco said contemplatively. “I wasn’t lying earlier. What I said to Blake? It was the truth. I loved you before this soul-bond Harry. I’ve loved you for the longest time.” Draco pressed a small kiss onto Harry’s forehead. “Here, captive in your arms, is the only place that I’ve ever truly wanted to be.”


End file.
